


Star Wars Episode II: The Phantom Menace

by A Gunter (dutchessof)



Series: The Revised Prequels [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Love, Gen, Labor of Love - Freeform, Revisionist As All Got Out - Freeform, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8874082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchessof/pseuds/A%20Gunter
Summary: I always felt the Star Wars Prequels should have taken place during the backdrop of the Clone Wars. Please keep in mind I have watched exactly eight episode of The Clone Wars TV show, so any questions I have about the show I found the answers on fan wikis and Wookieepedia.
The sequel to Star Wars Episode I: Attack of the Clones .





	1. "That's no moon."

 

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away …

STAR WARS

Episode II

THE PHANTOM MENACE

 

War! The galaxy is in chaos. The Republic is crumbling under the ruthless attacks by the Separatist commander, GENERAL GRIEVOUS.

The next to fall is the Core Worlds Orbital Defense, a series of space stations tasked with protecting the heart of the Galactic Republic.

General Obi-Wan Kenobi and his Padawan Anakin Skywalker have been dispatched with a fleet of Star Destroyers to defend the station....

 

* * *

The Core Worlds Orbital Defense began life in the aftermath of the Battle of Alderaan. Alderaan’s very nature as a pacifist world, lead by a Queen and her husband who were shining examples of resilience in the face of tyranny, became a propaganda symbol for the war effort. “Join the Republic Forces—Fight for Peace” the slogan said, and the enlistment numbers swelled.

So that no other world underwent the same bombardment as Alderaan, the Republic Senate unanimously approved the creation of Orbital Defense, a series of spherical space stations armed with a laser powerful enough to damage any capital ship that threatened to breach the line. Protected by a shield tinted orange-gold, the Hub for these stations was the largest sphere of all, with long-range targeting capabilities concentrated at a central ellipse.

Four _Lucrehulk_ -class dreadnoughts targeted their batteries on the Hub’s closest hemisphere, the red turbolasers slamming into the Hub’s shield. The shield flashed orange and fizzled gold. In response, the Hub emitted a green laser beam. The laser caught a dreadnought in rotation. The momentum aided the beam in bisecting the Separatist ship lengthwise. The lights flickered out and the oblong halves drifted apart.

The downside to Orbital Defense was the elapsed time between attacks. The kyber crystals that powered the laser needed a full cycle to recharge, giving the Separatists time to retaliate. Red turbolaser blasts battered the Hub’s closest hemisphere, causing its shield to finally sputter orange-gold and die. Red turbolasers battered the Hub’s surface, scorching the hull. Flames danced for mere seconds before being snuffed out in the vacuum of space.

At that moment, a fleet of Republic _Venator_ -class Star Destroyers swept out of hyperspace. The six Destroyers paired off against the remaining dreadnoughts, two against one. The Destroyers’ batteries unleashed blue turbolasers and the Separatist ships responded in kind, both sets of capital ships sustaining damage to their hull. From the Republic Destroyer _Victory_ , the red topside panels parted and a squadron of V-wing starfighters launched out of the docking bay to align themselves in attack formation.

In his _Actis_ -class interceptor, Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi keyed in to his squadron: “This is Red Leader to Red Squadron. Split into two group. Follow Padawan Skywalker and aim for the hyperdrive engines. We want to stop their escape.”

His comm crackled with confirmations, his Padawan’s voice topping off the chatter: “Roger that, General Kenobi.”

The starfighter squadron split into two teams as instructed, their maneuverability and speed bringing them into the Separatist dreadnoughts’ defenses. A red turbolaser struck one V-wing and it burst into a ball of flames. Obi-Wan dodged a red turbolaser that would have taken off his starboard wing.

The Republic Destroyers moved into flanking position, trapping the Separatist ships between them and Orbital Defense. The _Victory_ aimed all batteries at the closest dreadnought and blue turbolasers pierced the dreadnought’s hull, through one end and out the other.

Anakin Skywalker’s team dodged a hail of red turbolasers. The padawan’s _Actis_ -class interceptor broke off from the group and slipped beneath a dreadnought. In the cockpit, Anakin bypassed his targeting computer and fired. Green lasers struck the undercarriage hyperdrive engine. The explosion swallowed Anakin’s starfighter, but he sailed his ship through it. When he surfaced and swung around, he spotted his team engaging in feint dives: by skimming so close to the dreadnought’s surface, the batteries couldn’t recalibrate for close firing, so the V-wings unleashed rockets that left the dreadnought’s hull pockmarked and smoldering. One V-wing took a red turbolaser blast and exploded. Anakin keyed in to his team:

“Squadron Team, turn your attentions to the next dreadnought — this one’s done.” Next, he punched in a line to the _Victory_ : “Captain Greniss, it’s all yours.” Then Anakin angled his interceptor to join the raid.

Obi-Wan lead his team in a focused run on a dreadnought, but as the V-wings unleashed a hail of green laser blasts, the Separatist dreadnought jumped into hyperspace — going _up_ . Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. _Of course_ , he thought. He ordered his Squadron Team to swing around and launch an assault on the last dreadnought, but by the time he angled his interceptor around, that dreadnought, too, launched into hyperspace, also going _up_. Red Squadron drifted to a halt. Obi-Wan looked around. Both the captured dreadnought and the remnants of the bisected one hovered in space.

Obi-Wan keyed in to the bridge of the Star Destroyer _Victory_ to announce the end of engagements. At that same moment, a green beam from the Hub sliced straight through the captured dreadnought. Obi-Wan stared, flabbergasted. As he watched, the vacuum of space ripped the dreadnought in half, the lights winked out, bodies and debris spiraled into the black.

He slammed the console. “Captain Greniss, what’s going on? We won. We were supposed to take prisoners.”

Captain Greniss’s heavily accented Daiquilian voice filtered into his cockpit. “New orders from Forward Command: Show the enemy no quarter.”

Obi-Wan gagged. He opened his mouth to refute, to lay out his reasons, but Captain Greniss ordered Red Squadron back to the _Victory_. Out the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan glimpsed the V-wings as they passed him by. At last, he heard Anakin’s voice crackle into the cockpit, waking him up. “Master. Let’s go.” Obi-Wan blinked, but the image of a war crime flashed behind his eyelids. He followed Red Squadron, through the force field, into the docking bay, and forewent the post-checks. Obi-Wan grabbed the handles, pulled the transparisteel dome open, and hopped out.

The grind and clink of the docking bay assaulted his senses, the metallic odor of Malastarian fuel burned his nostrils. Obi-Wan marched out of the docking bay and arrived on the bridge of the _Victory_ without remembering how he got there. He sensed Anakin at his flank, his Padawan’s presence a steady reassurance, but then Obi-Wan was sweeping past the officers at their command stations, alien and human both. He spotted Captain Greniss at the comm. Obi-Wan wouldn’t call the emotion fury, roiling there under the surface, but it was a severe distaste.

“Captain Greniss,” Obi-Wan began. The Daiquilian turned. Reptilian gills flared in recognition, the solid blue eyes in direct contrast to the red scales. The gray command uniform had been tailored to accommodate the tail, and it snaked upward, sinuous, ending in a barbed point.

“General Kenobi.”

“No quarter? I was never informed of such an order.”

Captain Greniss moved to the next command station, saying, “Check in with your Jedi Council. They’re the ones who approved it.”

Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks. That couldn’t be true. He traded a look with his Padawan. Anakin raised a brow, short hair and short braid shaping his face into a younger version of itself. Then Obi-Wan turned back, but Captain Greniss had moved on, a tacit dismissal. _Well._ Anakin’s heavy hand clapped Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Small comfort, but this wasn’t over.

Obi-Wan commandeered an empty station in a shadowed corner, observed Anakin blocking him in, and then entered the code to the Old Folk’s Home. Master Mace Windu and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi appeared as small, blue holograms seated in the empty Jedi Council Chamber.

“Master Kenobi,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi said, his measured speech pattern at odds with Obi-Wan’s annoyance. “Orbital Defense is secure?”

“Yes, Masters.” Obi-Wan cursed himself — he forgot about debriefing. “Orbital Defense has been defended. But what’s this about giving the enemy no quarter?”

Both Masters appeared to settle into a meditative silence. Obi-Wan waited. Even Anakin stuck his thumbs in his belt and reined in his patience. At last, Master Windu said, “Don’t think this was an easy decision to make. With his cloning technology, Count Dooku has an inexhaustible supply of enemy combatants, and according to our calculations, the Republic is losing fifteen hundred soldiers every hour of this war. We had to do something.”

Obi-Wan clenched his teeth, preferable to slamming the console with his bare hand. “How are we meant to engage in prisoner exchanges if we kill our enemy? This will only lead to escalation.”

“That may be so,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi said, “but one Jedi dies every hour of this war, too.” Obi-Wan blinked, shocked. He had never heard the statistics before. In a rustle of robes, Anakin straighten behind him, no doubt equally taken aback. “We need to bring an end to this conflict, and quickly.”

“And it’s good you contacted us,” Master Windu said. “We’ve received a request from the Prince of Alderaan, Bail Organa. Seems he’s discovered an anomaly and requested the Jedi investigate.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Masters.” The holograms fizzled out.

Anakin cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan looked up into bright blue eyes, cheeks twitching in a hesitant smile. Ah, yes. Alderaan. Obi-Wan faked a frown. “Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed so quickly. I mean, Alderaan’s lovely and all, but — ”

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin had the most piercing whine. Obi-Wan grinned, dropping the act, and then stood and clapped his friend on the shoulders. Anakin smiled, his excitement brimming at the seams. “I’ll get a shuttle ready.”

Anakin hurried off, long legs swallowing the deck whole. Obi-Wan followed at a more sedate pace. His Padawan’s affinity for the “Heart of the Republic”, as Alderaan was informally called, stemmed from Anakin’s affection for a certain Naboo Queen. Obi-Wan wondered if he should be alarmed. Or not. After all, they were just friends.

It would do well to have a furlough, even if it meant working a mysterious investigation. At least they would be away from the front lines. 

 


	2. "Years ago ... "

 

He felt Obi-Wan’s regret.

The metallic gold bone structure of Anakin’s leg gleamed in the faint light of the ship. He touched a hydrospanner to it and the golden foot flexed in response. The appendage had been lost during the Battle of Rishi, to a rock slide. Utterly crushed. And the cause of Obi-Wan’s regret: A Separatist rocket had slammed into the rock face overhead and the explosion shattered the mountainside. Anakin pushed Obi-Wan out of the way, but hadn’t moved fast enough to save his own leg. The replacement had been installed on Alderaan, the planet acting as the designated medical world for the wounded Republic forces. Neuro-Saav Corporation had been given free rein to increase its repli-limb prosthetic replacements division, creating BioTech Industries as a subsidiary — and this war gave their profits a windfall. Their products were still in the rudimentary stages, but with a final tightening of the bolt, Anakin slipped his boot back on and looked up with a grin.

Obi-Wan’s face took too long to shift from a concerned frown to matching grin. But the eyes were dulled, even in the blue-white medley of hyperspace.

Anakin turned his attention to the console just as the navicomputer beeped, signaling their arrival. He engaged the sublight engines and their T-6 shuttle dropped out of hyperspace. A blue gem planet beckoned, bright against the blackness of space. Anakin ran through the landing clearances, then angled their shuttle downside.

Wispy clouds parted around their ship. Out the corner of his eye, he caught Obi-Wan’s concerned glance. And then realized why. Anakin’s hands cramped he was gripping the controls so hard. He eased his grip, flexed his hands, and exhaled.

“You seem a little on edge.” The levity in Obi-Wan’s voice sounded like a chore.

Anakin shook his head. “Not at all.”

When he turned, Obi-Wan was grinning, the one he wore whenever he was ready to needle a friend. A genuine grin, thankfully. “I haven’t felt you this tense since we fell into that nest of gundarks.”

Anakin’s jaw dropped. He whirled and nailed Obi-Wan with a incredulous glare. “ _You_ fell into that nightmare, Master, and I rescued you, remember?”

“Oh. Yes.” Obi-Wan chuckled, strangely enough. According to Anakin’s recollection, the gundark misadventure involved more panicking than a Jedi should admit. “You’re sweating.” Obi-Wan’s voice took on a comforting tone. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”

Anakin obeyed, and then they punched through the clouds.

Alderaan. Jagged mountains capped in white spread out below, touched the horizon, and finally dipped into foothills made of rounded earth and stone. Green blanketed the hillsides where the first cities made themselves known. Open balconies carved out of rock, glass windows surrounded by stone, the sun shimmered on gleaming façades, but nothing seemed excessive or out of place. _Elegance_ was the word. Whereas Naboo was set in its past, the history worn on its exterior like a patina of time, Alderaan built towards its future, modern without excess, understated and beautiful.

Anakin loved it on sight.

He guided their shuttle toward the Mountain Palace, the home of House Organa. Towers and spires thrust up out of the mountain, not only carved into the rock, but complimenting it. A lake filled the bowl of the valley. Sunlight reflected off its rippling surface like illumination fractured through shattered glass. Anakin guided their shuttle to the blinking lights of a landing platform. When they touched down, he unstrapped his harness, waited for Obi-Wan to do likewise, then followed his master down the gangplank and into the bracing wind.

Cold, mountainous air swept their Jedi cloaks around their legs. At the end of the gangway, two figures waited. One wore a sleek silver tunic and trousers complete with a cape that billowed out behind him. The other, petite and standing at his shoulder, had a colorful dress that fluttered and rippled, her very appearance at odds with the understated elegance of Alderaan. In fact, her garments would be better suited on Naboo.

As they neared, Anakin smiled. Padmé Amidala’s face broke into a wide grin. Her brown eyes sparkled. She looked no different than he remembered her three years ago. Except his heart hurt to look at her.

Obi-Wan and Anakin bowed. The dignified First Prince of Alderaan, Bail Organa, dipped nod. “Welcome, Jedi Ambassadors. Please, our guest is waiting.”

The Prince escorted them inside, the howling wind silenced behind a transparisteel door. Their destination was an audience chamber off the main hall, where an elderly man waited. His violet robes marked him as a member of the Republic Senate, and Anakin’s suspicions were confirmed when Bail introduced the stranger as, “Senator Palpatine.” Seating at the round table ended with Anakin across from Padmé, Bail next to her, Obi-Wan on Anakin’s right, and Palpatine remained standing. The Senator would have the opening remarks:

“The longer this war drags on, the more the greedy, squabbling delegates look out for themselves and their home systems, driving a wedge in the common good. No civility, only politics. It’s disgusting.

“I must be frank, Your Majesty, Your Highness — ” Palpatine began pacing. “ — the only end to this war will be the capture of Count Dooku.”

 

Obi-Wan sighed. “We have tried to find Count Dooku, but whenever we zero in on his position, he’s more slippery than a forshan eel.”

The silence that followed rang with desperation. Anakin wanted an end to this war as much as anyone, but how to make it happen? If Dooku remained elusive, then the war could go without end and leave the galaxy in tatters. A dark sentiment Anakin tried not to allow himself, but when he thought about his vow as a Jedi, to protect and maintain the peace, there had to be a peace to maintain first. They would have to restore it. He would make sure of that.

Padmé traded a look with Bail, then the Prince sat forward. “Onto why I requested Jedi intervention. Alderaanian intelligence has uncovered a new development.” The Prince tapped a few keys on the keypad and the tabletop screen came to life displaying star charts. “During routine maintenance, our Technology Manager discovered a glitch in the system. The Manager traced it back to the source at the Republic Archives.” Obi-Wan’s head snapped back, and Anakin felt a mild shock strum through his friend. Even Palpatine looked startled. The star charts zoomed in, and in, and highlighted a section of space just outside the Rishi Maze. “Here. Notice anything?”

Anakin leaned forward, squinting. “No.”

Padmé gestured to the spot. “Exactly. Gravity is pulling all the stars in this area inward to this spot. There should be a star here …”

“… but there isn’t,” Obi-Wan finished.

Anakin looked up, catching Padmé’s eye. “What makes this glitch worth your attention?”

Bail tapped more keys and the star charts faded away to be replaced by similar, but separate charts, also zooming in. Padmé was saying, “This glitch appeared two days after the Battle of Nemoidia.”

“One of the few Republic victories,” Obi-Wan muttered only loud enough for Anakin to hear.

Padmé continued, “And the Technology Manager figured that it was only specific to the Republic Archives. All the Republic worlds pull from the Archive, so every world’s database was affected.”

“Except for Alderaan,” Bail said. The same region of space dominated the tabletop screen, except the gravity pulled all the stars toward a blue-gray planet Anakin had never seen before. “We keep a separate database. The Marjan Hyperspace Disaster taught us a valuable lesson.” Anakin had read up on the disaster: Inaccurate star charts had lead Alderaanian passenger transports to miss Marjan and enter the planet’s sun. Thirteen million people had been killed in a single hyperspace jump.

Obi-Wan stared at the screen, brows furrowed. “What is it called?”

“No one knows,” Bail said, leaning back in his chair. “At least, no one we’ve consulted.”

Anakin bit his lip, noting the particulars. “It’s deep in Separatist space. The Nemoidia victory was a decisive blow against the Separatist — they lost a quarter of a million troops during our surprise attack.” He tapped the screen, curiosity getting the better of him. “What could be hiding on this planet?”

He glanced up just in time to see the light flare in Padmé’s eyes, her lips lifting into a pleased smile. Anakin ducked his head, a blush burning his cheeks.

Obi-Wan sat back, thumb and forefinger rubbing the edge of his beard. “Just because this planet was deleted from the Republic Archives doesn’t mean it’s of interest.” Anakin looked up in time to see the light in Padmé’s eyes blaze in reproach, but Obi-Wan continued, “A glitch is a glitch, and chasing after incomplete information is a waste of our time.”

Padmé opened her mouth, to protest no doubt, but Palpatine sat forward, cutting her off. “Master Kenobi is right, Your Majesty. It’s suspicious, yes, but nothing to send the Jedi after.”

“But it wouldn’t hurt to investigate,” Anakin said, and then glanced at the combination of hopeful and incredulous stares directed his way. Obi-Wan, it seemed, made his stare especially incredulous. Anakin spread his hands. “Why not? Why would such a glitch affect only one planet? And if it _was_ deleted, it must be important.”

“Listen to what you’re saying,” Obi-Wan said. “You’re implying that there’s a mole in the Republic.”

“You saw what happened at Orbital Defense — realigning their hyperdrives — it’s like they know our strategy.”

Obi-Wan sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Most of the war has been that way. But a mole …”

Bail steepled his hands on the table. “If we operate under the assumption that there is a Separatist mole in the Republic, then Padawan Skywalker is right: we should investigate.”

Anakin’s head whipped around, brows furrowed. “ ‘We’? ”

Padmé spoke. “Figure of speech. Bail has vowed to pledge Alderaan’s assistance to the investigation.”

 _And if_ we _don’t investigate,_ you _will, right?_ Anakin shuddered, such a thought making his insides crawl with fear. Padmé would put her life in jeopardy to hunt down any clue if it meant ending the war. But he couldn’t have Padmé endangering herself. If he could keep her safe, he would. “Fine. We’ll look into it.”

Obi-Wan swung his chair around, brows raised. “Padawan.”

Censure and recommendation; Obi-Wan had dulcet tones. Anakin ducked his head, more for appearance than actual penitence. “Sorry, Master.”

Obi-Wan addressed the Prince and Queen. “Your Highness, Your Majesty, there isn’t enough evidence to accept the investigation. I apologize.”

At that moment, a chime sounded and Bail and Padmé sat straight in their chairs. “Incoming wounded,” the Prince said. He led the way out the audience chamber and down the corridor to a large ballroom lined with rows of empty cots; only Palpatine stayed behind. The ballroom’s blast doors were flung wide, a ship’s cargo bay docked at the entrance. Alderaanian medtechs carried the wounded out on pallets, gray uniforms and white plate armor, alien and human alike. A dozen doctors performed triage, the pallets were taken through to an operating theater and bacta center, and med droids moved in to assist. Bail and Padmé rushed to the ship, and then began helping patients to a free cot. Obi-Wan and Anakin joined the effort.

Although healing wasn’t his forte, Anakin helped as best he could, lifting patients off gurneys post-surgery, putting pressure on a wound until the medical droid could cauterize it. But the clincher came when he had to hold someone down while their limb was being amputated. The human officer fought, bellowed in Anakin’s face, gripped Anakin’s tunic and shoved, but Anakin waved a hand over the man’s eyes and whispered, “Relax.” The med droid’s arm lasered through a twisted leg. The ripe stench of roasting flesh burned in Anakin’s nostrils. Trapped under a Force-suggestion, the injured officer could only stare, his green eyes boring into Anakin’s, Anakin unable to turn away. The look in those eyes was hate — hate that he couldn’t feel it, hate that he couldn’t scream, hate that Anakin had taken away the man’s only outlet against something he didn’t want.

Anakin stumbled away after that. They no longer needed him, the triage completed, the med droids and doctors and medtechs busy with patients. Anakin didn’t see Obi-Wan, but he spotted Padmé laying a blanket on a patient, smoothing it down and tucking in the corners. He turned away and missed how she looked up in time to see him exit.

* * *

By the hunch of his shoulders, he looked to be in pain. Padmé glanced around to see if she were still needed, but with the medtechs taking up their rounds in recovery, Padmé made her way outside.

Alderaani nights whipped brutal and cold. She had learned to wear layers after the first night on the planet, shivering in her bed, so used to the regulated climate of Coruscant or the temperate one of Naboo. Still, the wind knifed through her layers; Padmé gripped the hem of her outer skirt and drew the capelet around herself, then glanced both ways, searching the wrap-around balcony. The wall sconces lent little illumination, but she made out a figure limned in light, arms braced on the balcony railing, his head bowed. A shadow-shape with an impartial glow. The very image sent a chill up her spine, though she couldn’t fathom why. Shaking it off, Padmé made her way over, the click of her heels the only sound able to penetrate the howling wind.

Anakin’s head turned toward her. Her identity must have registered because he shot upright, drawing himself to his full height. Then he bowed, as formal and poised as any Jedi Padawan. The blue of his eyes glittered like Turmnian sapphires. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe … but maybe that was the wind pushing too hard. She had been caught in a thunderstorm on Naboo once, the wind like a wall, suffocating her. His voice broke the lull:

“May I help you, my lady?”

Padmé rolled her eyes, a disappointed sigh trailing a long mist on the wind. “Anakin. Call me Padmé. We’re alone — and we’ve known each other long enough.”

She saw his cheeks bunch as he smiled. And then his shoulders slumped, and he returned to his place leaning against the balcony, the wind whipping his short Padawan braid out behind him. Padmé gripped her capelet in one hand and slipped the other out, grabbed his braid, tugged. He chuckled. She ran her thumb over the silken strands before dropping it. She liked the arrangement; they were closer in height this way.

“How’s your leg?” she asked.

She heard his robe shift as his shoulder line drew tense. She knew she had stepped in it, though she didn’t know what _it_ was. Something to do with the triage? Anakin’s hand waved downward, his response nonchalant. “A few tweaks here and there and it’s like having a mechanical leg.”

“But is it still bothering you?” Padmé remembered holding his hand as he stood up for the first time. The surgery had lasted fourteen hours. Re-learning balance during recovery had them taking walks around the physical therapy room and chatting. He had argued that relearning how to operate a mechanical hand would have been less trying. Practicing fine motor control with this Republican line of prosthetics wasn’t impossible, but his knee constantly buckled. The government had become too complacent with innovation, this war catching them all unawares.

He flexed his leg, a shadow moving among shadows. “I tinker with here and there. Sometimes the cold makes it seize up.” Anakin pushed back, drawing up to his full height again. Suddenly, his hands enveloped hers, hot despite the wind and cold, drawn from whatever heat the twin suns of Tatooine had imbued in him. Padmé felt her breath catch in her chest, this one not caused by the wind. Her capelet fell off her shoulders, but she let it. “Padmé,” he began, his swallow audible, and then his next words were so low she had to lean in to hear them, “don’t go to the planet.”

That was unexpected. Padmé shook her head, blinked, shocked, and intrigued. But mostly shocked. “Why … would you say that?”

“It’s just these feelings I get sometimes.”

Jedi stuff. _Hmm._ “It’s just a feeling.” She wanted to run her hand through his hair, anything to soothe his mind.

The pressure on her hands tightened, and if she didn’t trusted him, she would have snatched them away. “ _No_.” His tone shook her, unexpected and unkind. The edge to his voice sounded too much like fear. “I had this same feeling when my mother died. I didn’t know what it was then, but I know now. If I can stop you from putting yourself in harm’s way, I will.”

Padmé felt her patience deflate. No one told her what to do, or chose to act in her best interest. The last time that happened, she lost Naboo. Still, she was a diplomat, regardless of the emotions spinning within her. She had to put an end to this without besmirching Shmi’s memory. Padmé inhaled, carefully choosing her words. “It’s sweet that you want to protect me, but this is war.” Something shifted in his gaze, the blue darkening in a way the light never should have allowed. Padmé eased one of her hands free and reached up, the palm of her hand cupping his chin, the weathered skin scratching her pampered palm. She felt his exhale like a blast of heat against her wrist. She shivered, certain his head made an aborted attempt to lean in. “If I’m not willing to risk everything for my people, then how can I ask them to do the same?”

“Without you, what happens to your people?”

His words were a whisper carried on the wind. Padmé dropped her hand, and then extracted herself from his grip. The heat emanating off his skin vanished, and Padmé shivered, cold. She drewed her capelet back around her shoulders, desperate to get inside at once. “They are Naboo. One person is not her people.” Her mind made up, Padmé squared her shoulders. “Good night, Padawan Skywalker.”

* * *

Anakin watched Padmé sweep through the transparisteel doors, her skirts billowing out behind her. _You’re wrong_ , he wanted to say. _It’s all wrong. I can feel it._ But when she touched him, his tongue became a knot. She was a calm he hadn’t known he was missing. Peace, in so many words, something his lessons with Obi-Wan had somehow missed. No. That wasn’t right. He had never felt anything like this before, a twisting pain in his chest, somewhere near his heart that only came alive when he saw Padmé, thought of Padmé, caught a whiff of her perfume, or had her touch him however briefly. It was madness. Not because of how he felt, but because he felt it. He wanted to spend every moment with her, stare into her eyes and admire their depths, brush his thumb against the perfect, little mole on her cheek, kiss her and not have her slap him. Because that would happen. A stinging slap from someone so small. He was a commoner, and he already took too many liberties as it were. Holding her hands — what was he thinking? Using each others’ given names didn’t mean that he could take it further. He was a commoner. She was royalty. That was the divide.

But if she were a commoner, too, it still wouldn’t give him free rein to treat Padmé however he pleased.

He couldn’t demand Padmé’s attention. Just because he thought of her constantly didn’t mean she was obligated in any way to think of him likewise. It would be … creepy. And wrong. What kind of signal did it send if he acted possessive, demanding, and thoughtless? How would they — _So we’re a_ they _now?_ — have a relationship based on lies and scheming? Padmé was worth more than that. More than anything he could give her. And if she looked at him with kind eyes again, it was merely a Queen giving a commoner a look of compassion and that was all. He was … a sand mouse … and he wasn’t ever not going to be. What would a Queen see in him?

Blinking hard, Anakin pressed the heels of his palm against his eyes until they stopped stinging. He needed to get inside, out of the cold.

Ever since he left Tatooine, it was hard staying warm.

 


	3. "You cannot escape your destiny."

 

Obi-Wan helped place plaster-splint on broken limbs; elevate the damaged tentacle-lungs of a Bruo, who gagged on her own blood until the med droid could aspirate the blockage; held together the split open sides of a leather-skinned Runta-KeeNar; and bandaged the eyes of an Aturian, the blue lines on the tips of its white ears signaling its young age.

“Master Kenobi,” a voice croaked.

Obi-Wan turned to see a tattered brown cloak amidst the Republic-issued white panel armor and gray officer uniforms. A Jedi — not a dirt farmer pulled into a war that wasn’t theirs. Obi-Wan wove his way over to the cot, seeing the tattered edge of the robe trailing to the floor, and then the missing legs of a human. Master Ly Homun. Blackened excoriations criss-crossed her torso, her labored wheezing making the marks bunch and flex. Her tanned skin was ashen, her heavy-lidded black eyes glazed.

Obi-Wan whirled, raising his arm and calling for a droid, but Ly’s hand grabbed his. When he turned back, the resignation in her bearing drew him closer. Obi-Wan knelt and Ly slipped two metal cylinders into his hands. Obi-Wan lifted them and saw scorch marks where the casing had been cleaved neatly in two. When he fitted them back together, his breath left in a rush. Only another lightsaber could have bisected a lightsaber.

Ly muttered, more an exhale than words. Obi-Wan leaned close, her breath hot on his cheek. “He was a Sith.”

The hairs on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck stood up. If he hadn’t been kneeling, he would have crashed in a heap. All these years … He had conquered his fear. He was not the brash, newly-invested Knight way in over his head. Obi-Wan was a Master; he had to set an example; he had to _know_.

He lowered his voice to a whisper, careful not to disturb Ly’s fleeting peace. “Where, Ly? Where was he?”

“Kyre III.”

And then Ly’s eyes lost focus and she slumped, going still.

Obi-Wan draped Master Homun’s cloak over her, and then found his apprentice just as Anakin re-entered from the balcony. Obi-Wan took Anakin aside, peered into four different conference rooms before he found an empty one, sealed the door, and placed Master Homun’s lightsaber halves on the tabletop.

Anakin’s brows jumped. He scooped up the pieces with gentle hands and ran a finger across the charred casing, his gaze transfixed as though he _sensed_ something from it. Then he looked up, Anakin’s stare nailing Obi-Wan to the spot. “The Sith Lord. What did you say his name was again?”

“Darth Maul.” The name threatened to fill him with dread, but Obi-Wan released his emotions into the Force. He sat at the console and contacted the Old Folk’s Home. Master Mace Windu’s distinguished countenance appeared on screen.

Windu’s brow line remained impassive, but his dark eyes flashed with curiosity. “Obi-Wan. What of the Prince’s request?”

In answer, Obi-Wan slid the lightsaber halves into focus. “Master Ly Homun said it was a Sith.”

Windu’s jaw dropped, and then multiple _beeps_ happened off screen. Images appeared, flipping through five other lightsabers that were also cleaved in half. Obi-Wan felt Anakin move forward, a hulking presence lurking over his shoulder. Obi-Wan was, needless to say, floored.

“Five other Jedi have died on the battlefield by the same means,” Master Windu said.

Anakin’s voice was low when he spoke: “Which battles?”

As Windu named them, “Onri and Dax Posaras”, Anakin moved to the screen against the wall and brought up Alderaan’s star charts. He highlighted the named planets — “Chisal, Granturan, and Vartar” — and showed how they were, “in Separatist space.” Anakin tucked his thumbs into his utility belt, his brows drawn together in thought.

“Master Homun encountered the Sith at Kyre III.” Anakin tapped more keys and the eponymous moon of Kyre I joined the highlighted planets. Then the star charts zoomed out to show the planets forming a line toward the missing planet, the very one Padmé and Bail had asked them to investigate.

Obi-Wan felt his chest tighten. It couldn’t be coincidence; there was no such thing as luck. “He’s calling me out.”

Master Windu muttered something the speakers didn’t pick up. No doubt a swear.

“That settles it.” Anakin tapped the keys, shut down the chart, and made for the door. “We’re not going.”

“I missed something?” Master Windu said.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s elbow, swinging him around. His own heart slammed against his ribs. “He’s killing Jedi to send me a sign.”

Anakin’s brows drew low over his eyes. “You’re going to take that chance? Maul is a servant of the Dark Side.”

Obi-Wan unclenched his jaw with effort. “He won’t stop until I face him.”

“He wants to kill you.”

“If it means saving another Jedi.”

Windu’s voice cut in: “You will face him, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan whirled, having forgotten the live feed. Master Windu looked stoic, but having had years of interpreting the various layers of calm-Jedi-Master-face, Obi-Wan could see that Master Windu was livid. An emotion soon released into the Force. Obi-Wan nodded, his mission clear. “Yes, Master.”

“Unfortunately, there are no other Jedi we can pull from the battlefield. You and your Padawan will have to go it alone.”

Anakin squared his shoulders and the muscle in his jaw jumped. He nodded, then Master Windu signed off, the screen going dark. Free from scrutiny, Anakin turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

Obi-Wan canted a brow. “Weren’t you all for running off?” Anakin turned back, a steely look in his eyes. Not censure, but … _worry_. Obi-Wan gripped Anakin’s arm, squeezing to impart reassurance. “Fear is of the Dark Side.”

Anakin nodded, though a doubt in Obi-Wan questioned whether they were having the same conversation. Obi-Wan forced a light tone he didn’t feel. “It’s like you want me to fail.”

Anakin huffed, then clapped Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “You won’t face him alone.”

Obi-Wan grinned, something like relief lifting his spirits. Anakin grinned in return — then it dropped. “Oh, no.”

“What?”

Anakin’s blue eyes looked haunted. “Padmé.”

* * *

Anakin ran flat out, his boots pounding on the carpeted floors. The noise echoed as Obi-Wan kept pace, but Anakin’s longer legs ate up the distance, his worry propelling him forward. At last, they reached Padmé’s quarters. The doors parted and a handmaiden stood, startled, her embroidery clenched in both hands. Anakin staggered to a halt, gasping, and spoke around a throat tight with dread. “Where is Her Majesty, Queen Amidala?”

The handmaiden with Padmé’s face bit her lip, nothing like Padmé at all. Anakin sensed hesitancy and mild panic. He nearly raised his voice, demanding to know Padmé’s location at this very moment, but Obi-Wan swept forward, his voice mild, his manner gentle.

“You won’t be betraying your queen if you tell us. We’re her Jedi protectors — we have to know.”

“That’s just the thing, Obi-Wan — ” By the cadence of her voice, this was Dormé. “ — my lady told me not to tell you. Either of you.”

Anakin clenched his jaw, his suspicions confirmed. But Obi-Wan continued, undisturbed. “I understand, but if it means your lady’s safety, it would be worse if you didn’t tell us and, thereby, allowed Her Majesty to come to harm.”

“What kind of harm?”

“Please tell where she is.”

Dormé hesitated so long that Anakin called upon the Force and placed the suggestion in his voice: “Tell us now.”

Dormé’s brown eyes flew up to his. “Her Majesty and His Highness left on the _Star of Alderaan_ with a security detail and my sister.”

 _Bail_ was apart of this? Anakin nearly threw up his hands in exasperation, but he had to keep his head. He had to … to …

Obi-Wan took Dormé’s hand and enveloped it between both of his. “Thank you. When we find your lady, we will let her know you didn’t betray her.”

Dormé nodded and Anakin swept out the door, Obi-Wan at his heels. They made it five steps, the chamber doors closed, and Anakin said, “I knew this would happen. I knew it. If Padmé had _waited_ … ”

“We will get nowhere thinking about what could have been. Keep your concentration here and now where it belongs.” Obi-Wan’s teacher’s voice had the necessary effect: Anakin relaxed his shoulders and felt the tension drain away. They rounded a corner, passing sleek lines, then took the corridor back to the landing platform, their intention tacit. “Alderaan isn’t know for its warships,” Obi-Wan continued, seemingly feeling out the words, piecing together the clues. “More than likely, the _Star of Alderaan_ is a consular ship, outfitted with minor weapons, known for diplomatic missions. Smart, if they are to be ambassadors of peace. Not very smart if they are heading straight into Separatist space.”

Anakin nodded. “Worse case scenario, they’re captured and tried for espionage.” _And sentenced to death_ , he couldn’t bring himself to utter. Such thoughts made his heart ache.

The blast doors parted and the nighttime wind howled, bitter cold. Anakin mirrored Obi-Wan drawing up the hood and pulling his cloak tight around himself, the hem whipping around his legs. The iciness numbed his lips, but they made it to the landing platform and spotted an empty docking pad. Obi-Wan accessed its terminal. The screen glowed blue, flickering through the departure logs, until:

“We just missed them.”

Anakin clenched his jaw around his irritation. “If they’re headed for the mystery planet, we haven’t much time.”

They faced the wind, heading to their docking pad, entered their T-6 shuttle, and Anakin ran through pre-flight warm up. He had to battle down his anxiety, his impatience. Padmé could be injured, captured, dead, dying. Without warning, a hand landed on Anakin’s shoulder. He turned, met the steadiness in Obi-Wan’s blue-green eyes, and felt himself calm.

Anakin negotiated their departure procedures, then pushed their T-6 shuttle through the atmosphere and into the black, where they entered hyperspace. The mystery planet, unfortunately, was too deep into Separatist space reach in one jump. Perhaps Padmé and Bail had discovered this, too? Perhaps they had been wise enough to turn away? He allowed himself to hope. So, when a hyperspace communiqué broadcasting from the edge of Separatist space reached their shuttle, Anakin engaged the sublight engines.

This region had no major battles that Anakin knew of, nor any planets to fight over. The distant stars flashed, an untrammeled firmament reaching to infinity. Suddenly, an Alderaanian blockade runner fell out of hyperspace. The sublight engines flickered. Blast marks excoriated the outer hull, a layer of plating broke off. As they watched, the _Star of Alderaan_ went dark and began listing in space. Obi-Wan hailed them.

A familiar voice came over the comm: “Obi-Wan?”

She sounded harried, dismayed, but intact. Anakin released a sigh of relief.

Obi-Wan said, “Your Majesty, let us dock.”

“No, it’s me. Sabé.”

Anakin gasped, his thoughts rushing to terrible conclusions. But the conversation continued, bringing him out of his wild musings into something much worse.

“Her Majesty and the Prince were taken.”

Anakin crowded closer to the comm, uncaring if he showed his attachment or what Obi-Wan would say about it. “Where?”

“A Techno Union transport came upon us. Bail and Padmé piloted a shuttle, drawing our pursuers away, and we made the jump to hyperspace.”

Anakin refrained from running his hands through his hair. His anger made his next words harsh. “Why didn’t you take her place?”

“She told me not to.” Sniffles, then a broken voice filled the cabin. “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan voiced assurances, ordered Sabé to contact Republic Rescue, and then signed off. Anakin had stopped listening. His mind ran through all the possibilities.

“Taken.” It took a moment before he realized he had uttered his thoughts aloud. It gained Obi-Wan’s attention. Anakin would have spared him a glance, but he couldn’t afford to split his concentration. “Arrested, more like; therefore, POWs. But where?”

Obi-Wan said, “There’re thousands of POW camps in Separatist space.”

Anakin shook his head, not to negate ObiWan’s claim, but to clear it. “But not just any POWs. Nobility. So, to be used as leverage in bargaining terms.”

“That only leaves tens of thousands of worlds where they could be.” Obi-Wan reached over to activate the holonet, the red glow of the screen highlighting the premature gray in his hair.

Anakin leaned forward, trying to see over his shoulder, but the screen was meant for only one person at a time. “What?”

“Nothing on the Emergency Broadcasts.”

Anakin refrained from punching the console in frustration. Then he patched into the Republic Network.

A face crackled onto the screen, surprised. Senator Palpatine seemed delighted to see him. “Padawan Skywalker, this is an honor.”

Obi-Wan spun his chair around, brows flying into his hairline. Palptine’s blue eyes flickered over to Obi-Wan, then back.

Anakin took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Senator, but Padmé and Bail have been captured by the Separatists.” Palpatine’s brows creased, alarmed. “Obi-Wan and I are chasing them down now.”

“Say no more. I have contacts in the Senate who can parley for us,” the Senator said. “I will do everything I can. I promise.”

Anakin sighed in relief. Mild relief. “Thank you, Senator.” He waited for Palpatine to sign off, and then caught Obi-Wan’s eye. They would have to be patient, but Anakin began plotting four different contingency plans in his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Senator — any friend of Padmé’s was a friend of his — but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.

* * *

On Coruscant, Senator Palpatine sat back in his chair, the conversation with Padawan Skywalker making the anger in his core simmer. If he allowed it, that anger would consume him, envelope him in its flame, and burn him from within. The Dark Side beckoned, but he, not his anger, was the master, and knowing how to harness it, control it, and manipulate it were the lessons his own master had instilled in him. Lessons he, as Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, tried to impart to his own apprentice.

Palpatine swiveled his chair around to place Darth Maul in his sights. His apprentice wisely kept his gaze on the floor. When he had ordered Maul to delete the planet in the Republic Archives, he hadn’t expected such a sloppy job. The Alderaani backup files were unanticipated, but such a blip should have been seen as a minor oversight, not a potential disaster. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Maul?” Palpatine didn’t bother to alter his voice. He had nothing to hide here, nor any assets to terrorize. “Your carelessness may have cost us everything.”

Darth Maul dropped to one knee, his head bowed. The crown of horns formed an oblong shape, stark golden streaks against the black ink of his tattoos. “Master, I will fix this. I will make sure that anyone who knows about Kamino will be killed.”

“See to it.” As Maul stood, pulled up his hood, and made his way to the door, Palpatine raised a hand. “Lord Maul.” His apprentice turned back, the red of his skin the only contrast seen in the light. “I will deal with the Queen and the Prince myself.”

Maul bowed, then swept out the door. Palpatine pulled up his hood and contacted his allies on Geonosis.

* * *

The holoprojector activated, silencing the conversation at the table.

Count Dooku sat straighter in his seat and Poggle the Lesser of Geonosis turned towards the spot where the hologram materialized. Dooku and the Geonosian leader had been discussing the delivery of a new design of tanks to the Separatist’s frontlines. In the distance, the methodical _screech-clang-keTHUNK_ of the factory shook the conference room. The Geonosian mounds were solid construction, providing coolness away from the surface heat, but even the eaves shook off their sediment. When Lord Sidious’ hooded visage appeared as a blue hologram seated at the head of the table, Dooku stood and bowed.

“Lord Sidious.”

“Count Dooku,” the voice hissed, like a sand fly snapping at a meal. “The First Prince of Alderaan and the Queen of Naboo are now our prisoners.”

Dooku allowed a smile to show, pleased beyond all measure. “I see.” Naboo had been a miscalculation. With more time, he could have had the Queen bend to his will, but these new developments could give him the opportunity to try again. He never wanted much out of this war, only the chance to claim the Naboo throne for himself.

Lord Sidious’s next words, however, put an end to that fantasy: “They are a spot that need to be rubbed out. Kill them immediately.”

Dooku drew his shoulders back, the smile evaporating along with his good mood. He couldn’t disobey orders. He couldn’t. The empty place in his mind made it so he couldn’t. Dooku bowed and heard himself speak. “Yes, my lord.”

The hologram dissolved and Count Dooku made the necessary arrangements.

 


	4. " ... matters are worse."

 

The alert flashed, accompanied a shrill beeping. Anakin rushed to check the console, but Obi-Wan shut off the alarm first.

“A sentry droid picked up activity at the No Man’s Land between Separatist and Republic space. A Techno Union transport made a stop at Geonosis. Ever hear of it?” Anakin muttered how he had not; Obi-Wan’s fingers tapped the keys. “It arrived from the same region where Padmé and Bail were arrested.”

“That’s it.” Anakin brought up the star charts and plotted a quick hyperspace jump to the planet Geonosis, young, volcanic, and surrounded by a ring visible from space. His plan was to come in under Geonosis’s moon, dock, and recon before plotting their approach. If the planet were a Separatist prison, it would be heavily guarded to ensure that no POWs escaped. Meaning no one would expect a single Jedi to break _in_.

Anakin laned their T-6 shuttle on the moon’s surface. By the info on the Network, they would have three hours until sunset.

Anakin hurried to the docking bay, Obi-Wan’s footsteps close behind.

“This is mad,” Obi-Wan said. Regardless, Anakin shrugged out of his robe, unbuckled his belt, and chucked them at Obi-Wan, who caught them both out of midair with Jedi aplomb. Obi-Wan lifted the lightsaber. “No. _This_ is mad. You don’t know what you’ll encounter down there.”

They had room for only one _Actis_ -class interceptor and Anakin hopped inside. The black and silver R2 unit activated and beeped as Anakin began a system check. “I’d rather not give the Separatists any incentive to take on a Jedi. In, out, that’s my plan.”

Obi-Wan folded the robe over the belt. “It’s not the Separatists I’m worried about.”

Anakin flashed a grin, feeling giddy before the battle. “I won’t say ‘I told you so’ when I get back.”

Obi-Wan didn’t smile, his blue eyes hooded. “Be safe.”

Anakin nodded, then waited for Obi-Wan to retreat and the blast doors close behind him. Anakin sealed the cockpit, punched in the code to release the hatch, and piloted his starfighter into space.

He came around the moon, the crater marked surface rippling by in a flash. When he cleared the moon’s horizon, the orange globe of Geonosis hung like a glowing orb against the black. The rings weren’t stable asteroids, he soon discovered, diving and twisting through the rocks. Easy, when compared to Beggars Canyon. Anakin dipped his starfighter into a shallow angle and broke atmo.

Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn’t it.

Volcanoes spewed steam high into the atmosphere. Narrow mountains dotted the landscape. Far below, _Lucrehulk-_ class Core Ships were docked into recesses in the earth, additional steam rising up around them. Orange clouds obscured the sun, and at a certain angle, the ring surrounding Geonosis flared in a dark red band across the sky.

 _Vulture_ -class ships should be zeroing in on his position by now _or_ he should be dodging turbolasers trying to blast him out of the sky. Anakin frowned, his senses on alert.

He landed the starfighter on the outskirts of a tall spire, the shape of it something not found in nature. As Anakin unsealed the canopy and climbed out, he noticed the smell. Acrid heat that scorched the inside of his nostrils, like the noon Tatooine suns baking the open desert. He caught a faint metallic whiff, there and gone.

Anakin sealed the cockpit, ordered his astromech to shut down, and then picked his way across the rocky terrain. As he approached, Anakin corrected his original assessment. The narrow mountains were actually spires, identical to this one, the curious indentations and carved accents made by tools.

It made him wonder about the native species of the planet.

A repetitive _screech-clang-keTHUNK_ reached his ears. If there was sound, it meant life, and it probably meant civilization. Again, he caught whiff of the metallic scent, stronger, the scorch of heated metal, familiar and un-welcomed all at once.

What he thought were smooth indentations in the spire were actually opened archways, dozens of them, though there were none at the base of the spire. Anakin thanked his forethought to leave his robe behind and made a run toward the spire. His long legs propelled him up and his long arms reached. He caught the lip of the archway, then pulled himself up to peer inside.

A murky dimness blotted out the light, but he sensed no movement inside, so Anakin pulled himself up, swung his legs in, and dropped into a crouch. Nothing in the Force alerted him to danger, so he picked a direction and started walking.

Creeping was more like it. His tunic rustled, his boots squeaked, but he set each foot in front of the other with the intention to be as silent as possible. Several steps in, an opened archway gave way to a torrent of sound, the _screech-clang-keTHUNK_. Anakin poked his head through the archway, inhaled the stench of superheated metal, and gasped.

Below, tiers of activity seemed to go on without end. Molten metal spilled into a large crucible. The crucible was then carried on an automated rail and poured onto a conveyor belt that transported the red hot liquid away. On another conveyor belt, robotic arms sliced the cooled metal with a _screech_ noise. Next followed a _clang_ when the metal pieces were hammered into a shape. And last was the _keTHUNK_ , where the shaped pieces were bolted together. The process Anakin witnessed ended with dome-shaped barrels piled into a cart. The cart was, then, carried by robotic arms onto another conveyor belt, and then sent to a place too far away for him to see. What a time not to have his utility belt. A pair a macrobinoculars would be great right now.

Anakin ducked back out, and then rubbed the feeling back into his face. A factory — for the war effort — for the Separatists. The Republic needed to know about this. But he would relay that intelligence at a later time. Right now, he needed to find Padmé and Bail.

POWs would be treated according to the Writ of War and the Rules of Engagement. So, they would be imprisoned until the end of the war when both sides would agree to a prisoner exchange. He just had to find the prison camp.

It reasoned to assume that the entire spire was one large factory. Automated, sure, but even automated factories need workers. So where were the workers? If he found the workers, he might find civilization.

A horn sounded in the distance. Anakin whirled towards it, then took off at a jog.

The spire wrapped around itself with no stairs leading down; however, he caught movement out one of the windows. Against the dark red band of the planet’s ring and the orange haze sky, bug-like creatures swarmed, their gossamer wings flapping in cadence, the resulting hum at once unnerving and loud enough to block out the sounds of the factory. It now made sense that the spire would have open archways and no stairs: For Geonosians only.

As he watched, the swarm turned as one and headed toward the sun. Anakin breathed a sigh of relief, then he heard a hum coming from his left, the hallway helping the sound echo. He swore under his breath and looked for a place to hide. Smooth walls and shallow archways would never hide an outsider like him. The hum of their wings came closer. Anakin threw caution to the sun and climbed through the archway back into the factory proper. He gripped the ledge and braced his feet on the wall, hanging on with all of his strength.

Except, now, the hum of Geonosian wings sounded directly below him. In a flash, three Geonosians fluttered to his side. Bug-like creatures with glittering eyes and crackling carapaces. Anakin waited, a part of him thinking that if he held still, no one would notice him.

A _click-pop-scree!_ rent the standoff. Language, followed by responses. One of the Geonosians hovered over and slammed a bony hand into Anakin’s shoulder. The pain flared and he bit his lip around it. Another Geonosian flew over, then smashed a rusted pipe onto Anakin’s hand. He cried out, dropped his hand, but that threw off his balance. Anakin felt his feet slip, his one hand straining to hold his weight. Just as he swung his weight forward, the same Geonosian hit his other hand, and Anakin slipped. He tumbled backwards into a free-fall, vertigo lurching through him in a mixture of adrenaline and fear.

But as the thought of certain death raced through his head, bony arms reached under his back and stopped his descent. Multiple arms gripped his torso, his legs, his arms, and the hum of their wings carried him elsewhere. The bug-like exoskeletons crowded his vision, but he could feel the change in temperature. Gone was the scorching heat from the factory to be replaced by the acrid heat of the desert land. Then Anakin found himself dropped flat on his back. Sand erupted up into a dust cloud under him. He coughed, winded, unable to catch his breath. A clang overhead made him look up. Metal bars crossed the sky. Surrounded by metal bars, in fact.

He congratulated himself on finding the POW camp.

“Anakin?”

His head whipped around. Padmé had her hands wrapped around the bars, her ivory face flushed scarlet. Anakin climbed to his feet and reached his arms through the bars to hold her. She, too, had the same idea, her small hands gripping his tunic, but it was awkward and his shoulder threatened to pop if he kept this up, so they parted, hands gripping each other.

“Are you hurt?” He wanted to wipe the grime off her cheek, but that would mean letting her go.

Padmé shook her head, opened her mouth to answer, but another voice on beyond Padmé’s cell cut her off: “Please tell me you brought your lightsaber.”

Anakin refrained from rolling his eyes. “That would have been the first thing they would have taken, Your Highness.” He returned his attention to Padmé. “How long have you been here?”

“About a day?” she said. “The language barrier is … impressive.” Her lips twisted as though she had swallowed a more apolitical word. “I can only guess what they plan to do with us.”

Bail’s voice carried over. “We’ll be POWs until the end of the war.”

 _Not unless we escape._ Anakin, though tempted to hold her forever, forced himself to release her, step away, and assess their situation. All prisons had a weak spot. He just had to find it.

* * *

The proximity alarm roused Obi-Wan out of his meditation. He opened his eyes, shook off the euphoria of utter stillness, and flipped the switch to shut off the alarm. He, then, checked the sensors. And his brows shot upward into his hairline. Five Republic Destroyers had just dropped out of hyperspace near Obi-Wan’s hiding spot. His comm crackled; a deep voice with a Coruscanti accent crackled into the cabin:

“T-6 shuttle. This is the Republic Destroyer _Ruinous Edge_. Please identify yourself.”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, pressed the button to respond. “This is Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi. I had not received word of any Republic activity in this area.”

A high, feminine voice came over the comm: “General, this is Commodore Cayhern, requesting you to dock with my ship so that we may commence with Operation Meltdown.”

Obi-Wan blinked, alarmed by such a codename. “Where would this Operation be taking place, Commodore?”

“Not over an open channel, General,” the Commodore said. “Dock. Please.”

With such a command … Obi-Wan maneuvered his shuttle to the red and silver wedge-shaped Destroyer, entered the docking bay, and set down between a fleet of V-wings and a row of ARC-170 starfighters. Pilots in black-striped panel armor milled about, their helmets in hand. Technicians in gray overalls handled the system checks, fuel hoses snaking to the vats.

Obi-Wan descended the gangplank, the noise and scents too familiar to be welcomed. An orange-skinned TaHern approached, her short-cropped violet hair matching her violet eyes. The red bars on her gray uniform marked her as a Commodore. Obi-Wan smothered his surprise. Planet TaHern was a staunch Separatist ally. To see a TaHern so high in the Republic ranks must have meant that Cayhern was a military genius. Obi-Wan gathered his thoughts, bowed, and followed Commodore Cayhern to her conference room.

There, he learned what the squadron was planning.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, rising to his feet. “I have people down there.”

Cayhern lifted a brow, and leaned back into her chair. “People?”

“A rescue mission. Two very important dignitaries were captured. My Padawan is down there trying to set them free.”

“I’m sorry, General — ” Then Cayhern leaned forward in her chair, orange fingertips striking the surface in punctuation. “ — but Republic Intelligence tells us that Geonosis is the number one weapons manufacturer for the Separatist cause. If we take them out, we can cripple the traitors and bring a speedy end to this war.”

Tempting, but: “At least give me the time to get my people out.” Obi-Wan refrained from running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he had developed ever since the war started. “I can fly in low under the radar.”

Commodore Cayhern shook her head. “No. You’re presence would risk detection. We go in with the element of surprise.” Now she snorted. “Your student being down there might give something away … ” She stood, then rounded her desk. Her violet eyes sharpened and narrowed to razor fine points. “Your shuttle is grounded until further notice, General.”

Cayhern swept out of the room. The blast doors had barely begun to close again when Obi-Wan gave in to his frustration and kicked a chair into the bulkhead. It landed with a thud on its side, the sound not comforting at all. Obi-Wan gripped the edge of the desk and bowed his head, trying to think of an alternative plan. Some way where he didn’t let his Padawan down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The T-6 shuttle, according to Wookieepedia, is large enough for 2 passengers. For this story, there's a docking bay. :D


	5. " ... the power of the Force."

 

The Geonosian bugs shackled their wrists together and marched them out one-by-one, cheers from the crowd rising to a booming roar. When the bugs took Padmé, Anakin balled his hands into fists. He had to remain calm; he would destroy them later.

The bars on his cell rattled open and Anakin crouched, ready to launch himself at his captors. He charged forward, but one of the bugs poked him in the abdomen with a static pike. Pain shot through him in blinding arcs. Anakin fell to his knees, gasping. He felt his wrists being shackled together, and then the bugs dragged him forward. When the sun cut like a knife across his eyes, when the roar of the crowd swelled, Anakin looked up,

And wished he hadn’t.

They were in an arena, the Geonosian swarm filling the seats. The focus point of the arena were four posts, where Padmé and Bail were bound, their wrists chained above their heads. Padmé looked worried, Bail looked scared, and Anakin didn’t have the time to reassure either of them. Two Geonosians manhandled Anakin to a post, and then chained his hands above his head, a Geonosian flying up to secure the chain at the top of the post.

His artificial leg twitched. “An execution?”

“As far as I can tell,” Padmé said, wetting her lips.

The loss at his hip, the missing tap against his leg, set Anakin’s teeth on edge. He should seen this coming.

On his left, Bail looked glassy-eyed calm, as though a charge of execution was the norm. Or that their Jedi protector would get them out of this. But when their gazes crossed, Anakin dismissed both. It was pure fear.

Anakin figured his chances. Even if he managed to get free and use the Force to rip the bugs to shreds, a well-aimed sonic blaster would take him down, thus leaving Padmé and Bail to fend for themselves. No. … The other option would be to called upon his patience, wait for Obi-Wan, and hope they were rescued in time. Maybe. … Face the crisis head on and improvise as he went. Yes.

A movement in the Force, of three hungry and beastly presences, made Anakin’s throat close up. As one, the three gates on the far side of the arena rose, the audience cheered, and then cheered louder as the three beasts were tased and prodded out of their holding cells. He felt a frisson of terror from Padmé and a blast of barely suppressed panic from Bail. The feline-like creature, a nexu he would learn, had enough of the shock treatment and attacked its handler. The audience roared.

“I have a really bad feeling about this,” Bail said.

Anakin nodded, then called upon his Jedi training to focus, think, the instruction said in Obi-Wan’s voice.

A clink of chains drew his attention to the right. Padmé had a hairpin stuck in the lock and was wresting with the chains around her wrist. One cuff came free, and then Padmé stuck the hairpin between her teeth and climbed the pillar, scaling it with the dexterity he hadn’t anticipated.

With her on top of things, he needed Bail to focus, think. So Anakin said, “Focus. Think. We can get out of this.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

The big, bull-like reek with the single horn was tasered into charging. Anakin took a deep breath and timed it just right. He rushed forward, hooking the toes of his boots into the animal’s thick hide, up over its horn and wrapped the chair around it. The reek bucked and that snapped the chain. Anakin tucked his shoulder and rolled, the sand shifting under his tunic. He bounced back onto his feet, feeling the sand slither down, and thought with utter revulsion, _I hate sand._

Meanwhile, Bail had to deal with the acklay. The heaxpedal crustacean with _all the teeth_ released a high-pitched screech, then thrust a spear-shaped leg at him. Bail dodged, more rolling with the pillar than moving around it. That seemed to be enough because the acklay’s leg struck into the pillar where Bail had been, also slicing through the chain. Bail stumbled free, but quickly righted himself and took off at a dead run.

Padmé had her hands full. On top of the pillar, she had the tactical advantage, but she struggled with the hairpin stuck in her cuff. What’s more, the nexu prowled below, fangs bared in a nightmarish smile. The creature suddenly launched itself up the pillar, clawing at it, then swiping at the air. Padmé gathered the chain and slammed it on the nexu’s head. Once, twice, it seemed to stun the creature, but she missed her timing. A claw came up from behind and raked across her midsection. Agony lanced up her back, her blue jumpsuit tearing with a noise too loud to her ears. Over it all, she heard a roar from the crowd and a scream from herself. An off noise, to be sure. Such pain should have left her catatonic.

Anakin gathered the chain in his hands, wrapping it around his knuckles. With his wrists cuffed, he didn’t have the freedom of movement he needed to get a handle on the situation. But the reek was rearing up for a second charge. Anakin balled his hands into fists, squeezed the chains into the flesh of his palms, and planted his feet. With thunderous hoof beats, the reek charged, horn tossing this way and that. Anakin called upon the Force, feeling it flow through him like fuel through an ion engine. He was at one with the Force and it was at one with him. With a shout, Anakin thrust his fists forward. The blast of the Force launched itself like a tidal wave at the reek. The chain struck the creature’s horn, it shattered, and the razor-sharp shards flew backwards into the creature’s eyes. Flesh burst into orange blood, the reek roared, and then skidded to a halt, spraying sand at Anakin’s feet. It didn’t make another sound.

Bail made it to one of the picadors. The Geonosian aimed a static pike at him, but Bail grabbed it and wrestled with the creature until he managed to knock the bug off its mount. Bail heard the acklay’s high-pitched howl. Then he heard a crunch followed by the roar of the audience, but Bail was already climbing on the back of the orray, grabbing the reins, and spurring it into a trot. As he steered the animal around, he spotted the acklay pulling its leg-spear out of the Geonosian picador. It caught sight of him, changed direction, and charged.

The nexu wouldn’t quit. Padmé regained her feet, the more to keep herself out of the claw-length of the creature, but it continued to clamor up the pillar and take swipes at her. What would happen if it gathered enough momentum to make it to the top of the pillar, then where would she be? She would have to flatten it and soon. Figuring the angle, and factoring in her own upper body strength, Padmé seized the chain, timed her next move, and jumped off the pillar. The freefall ended in a full-body shudder as the chain jerked taut and she swung through the air. The nexu jumped. Legs outstretched, Padmé’s feet slammed into the nexu, and the creature gave a pitiful mewl, falling to the ground in a lump of fur. Padmé swung to a stop. She managed to grab the pillar and climb to the top again. She knelt there, gasping for breath. Her shoulders were beginning to burn. She glanced down at her wrist where the hairpin had somehow gotten free of the lock. Padmé felt around for another. Her hair slumped onto one shoulder. She attacked the lock, and the mechanism finally snapped open. Free, she stood, and looked around for the others.

Anakin spotted Bail coming around, the acklay keeping pace, then he looked up to see Padmé safe, though blood trailed from the gashes in her back. Bail pulled the orray to a halt.

“Hurry!”

Anakin mounted the orray behind Bail, then waved for Padmé to jump. When she hesitated, he shouted, “I’ll catch you!” and she jumped. Anakin wrapped the Force around her like a blanket, slowing her descent so she wouldn’t land at full velocity. Padmé landed behind him, and then threw her arms around Anakin, her hair spilling over his shoulder. He cursed the chains on his wrists that kept him from holding her.

With a crack of the reins, Bail had the orray peel out and away from the pursuing acklay. Anakin leaned forward to shout over the roar of the audience and the thudding of the orray’s hooves: “What’s your plan?”

Bail remained silent, his lips pulled into a thin line, the muscles in his jaw tight.

Anakin felt the Force shout a warning. “Halt!” He gripped Padmé’s wrists. At that moment, an explosion ripped into the orray and it collapsed. Everything went wrong side up. Anakin rolled through the sand, sky and arena twisting in a blurry mess. He lost track of Padmé. Bail cried out. The dead orray pinned Bail’s leg. He shoved and pushed and worked his leg free, then stopped, bound hands raised.

Anakin muttered a swear. The Geonosian picadors armed with static pikes and warriors holding sonic blasters had them surrounded. Padmé picked herself up and also raised her hands. Again, Anakin wished for his lightsaber …

A contingent of Geonosian warriors stepped forward, sonic blasters raised. Anakin heard Padmé’s gasp, Bail’s sharp inhale, and then a low, thumming sound. Like several ion engines approaching at attack speed. Padmé must have heard it, too, because she pointed to a spot over his head and whispered, “Look.”

Anakin looked, and instead of a grin splitting his face from ear to ear, his heart thudded hard against his ribs. Republic Nu-class attack shuttles swept over the lip of the arena, the shadows spilling one right after the other. The Geonosians spread their wings and took flight, but laser cannon blasts exploded in the stands. Carapaces shot high into the sky, then fell like rain on the stands, the entrails vaporized into brown-green mist. More lasers erupted. Similar in design to Orbital Defense, the spheres concentrated their green laser blasts into the cluster of flying bugs, slicing through the exoskeletons with sniper precision. Their howls faded into a ghostly echo as the pieces of their bodies tumbled through the air.

Anakin turned to their bug captors, but they had taken flight long ago. He figured the odds of escaping with their lives, if he first picked up a blaster, and then —

To his left, the upper stands of the arena shook, then tumbled inward with a roar that reverberated off the rotunda space, intensifying the noise. Bail turned away and clapped a hand over an ear; Padmé cried out; and Anakin winced, a faint ringing starting in his ears. Rockets whistled through the newly formed opening and exploded inside the catacomb, erupting in a wall of heat and light.

They would get killed if they stayed here a moment longer.

Anakin grabbed Padmé’s hand, shoulder checked Bail to gain his attention, and then gestured to the gate where the reek had been caged. With a ringing in his ears and the noise all around them, hand gestures would do a better job at conveying the message than screaming. The three of them hurried to the edge of the arena.

As they ran, the distance seemed to stretch to double its length. Bug carcasses littered the ground. The wave of Republic attack shuttles were thinning, but they continued to drop scatter bombs on the surface of the arena to knock out the walls, and then fire rockets into the exposed catacombs. The entire structure shook with dust, the arena sand dancing in response. A rocket explosion blew the gate off its hinges. One of the spikes flew through the air to impale a one of the pillars. Anakin, Padmé, and Bail staggered to a halt, caught between shock and uncertainty.

Anakin recovered first and pointed to the gate where the nexu had been. He ran, Padmé keeping pace, and Bail brought up the rear.

The stone of the stands now littered the pit, boulder-sized pieces scattered across the sand and blocking their way. That’s when a familiar high-pitched screech reached his ears. The acklay stepped over the uneven terrain, at home in such an environment, and heading straight for them. It’s fangs parted in another screech, but the back wall of the arena collapsed suddenly into a pile of rocks and dust, the noise drowning out the creature. But it kept moving, determined to eat what it was promised.

Anakin caught Bail looking around, possibly for a weapon, and Anakin kept Padmé behind him. Then he had an idea. It would be tricky because he had never done anything like this before and the level of concentration required … and his hands were still bound. He was just a Padawan, after all, but doing it meant protecting Padmé, so …

Anakin stepped forward. The heat of an explosion erupted behind him, but he had to focus. He drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and then stretched out his hands towards the acklay, and concentrated on what he imagined was the creature’s anatomy. All beings has to breathe, so if he concentrated, he could choke the acklay until it fell down dead. It would be easier to do this if the target of his power was a human, but he discarded that thought. He wasn’t a monster. This was for survival.

Anakin clenched his fingers, curled them into each other, imagined that he was constricting airways. But nothing seemed to be working. The acklay continued to approach. Padmé and Bail shuffled backwards, ready to run. It would all be so much easier if he could just rip its head off. With a cry, Anakin twisted his hands, imagining himself doing just that.

And there before him, the acklay’s head flew clean off its neck.

The head bounced, landing someplace, forgotten, then creature collapsed, claws sprawled every which way, undignified and outright comical. Green blood gushed from the stump, the chunky edges glistening in the waning light. Anakin dropped his hands, sick to his stomach, and vowed not to vomit there.

A small hand touched his arm. Anakin started, then whirled to see Padmé, her brown eyes wide and … worried. Only now did he realized that he was gasping for air, winded in a way he had never encountered in his Jedi training. Still, he covered Padmé’s hand with his own, squeezing it in reassurance.

He had done the right thing, he had done it for her, to protect her.

A new sound interrupted the peace. The first wave of the bombing run had ceased, but that opened up the potential for the second phase. The attack shuttles circled around, but with the terrain so unstable, the shuttles hovered over the arena. Cords dropped to the sand, and troopers with black Raiders’ stripes rappelled down the lines, smooth as a symphony, their practiced discipline on display. The Raiders fanned out, through the bombed out arena, then into the catacombs. The echo of blaster fire and sonic blasters erupted. Next came the _woosh_ and red-orange sparks of a flame thrower.

A T-6 shuttle hovered low enough to open the hatch. Obi-Wan appeared, his cloak billowing in the updraft. Anakin felt his heart squeeze tight in his chest. He ushered Padmé and Bail to the shuttle, Force-pushed a boulder into place so they could climb onto the gangplank, and then he slapped the emergency override for the gangplank to close behind them. Obi-Wan hurried to the cockpit and the shuttle hummed and rattled as they climbed through the atmosphere.

He had to go to the cockpit, debrief, confer with Obi-Wan to plan their next move. But right now, he needed to sit, and did right there, the closed gangplank supporting his back. Cold. Space was always cold.

Anakin didn’t notice the change in pressure when they finally entered left atmo. Or the change in the engines when they went into hyperspace. Padmé has collapsed next to him, her shoulder pressed against his, the shock slowly, but surely leaving them numb.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Anakin performed, essentially, a hadoken.


	6. "And confront him you will."

 

“Don’t give me that,” Padmé said, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes. The recently healed skin on her back pulled tight as she shrugged into a flight jacket Anakin had found in the med-bay’s storage locker. She fastened up the front, and then stepped out from behind the partition. Bail was smearing salve on his bruised wrists and Obi-Wan hovered over Anakin, a worried friend. “We were brought before the Geonosian magistrate, but we—” She gestured between Bail and herself. “—could not invoke diplomatic immunity. They had it out for us.”

“That’s impossible,” Anakin said, looking more focused and less adrift. She, too, felt whole again, not as numb as before. The light in Anakin’s eyes blazed, and Padmé waited for him to make his point. “I contacted Senator Palpatine to intervene on your behalf.”

That surprised her, but Bail was the one who spoke: “That’s …” He never finished; instead, swiped a hand through his hair and sighed. “This _is_ war.”

Padmé shook her head, unwilling to be so dismissive. “Regardless, we had no weapons, no intention for violence. They had no right to detain us.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze hardened. “We ran into Sabé. Why?”

Padmé’s heart fluttered with relief. “She made it. Good. Um, I knew we would be taken alive. Sabé should be heading back to Alderaan.”

“So now what?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan sighed. “We keep going.”

Padmé blinked. That was unexpected. “Go where?”

A haunted expression wore down Obi-Wan’s features and Padmé suppressed a shiver. “To the mystery planet. We were invited.” With that, he headed to the cockpit. Anakin, Padmé, and Bail followed, taking seats as the co-pilot and passengers, respectively.

Bail secured his harness. “So how do we approach?”

“In plain sight.” Anakin placed his hands on his knees, his shoulders square, a meditative pose intimidating on his wide frame. Obi-Wan turned his seat, the deck purring underfoot as they moved at sublight speeds. Anakin continued, “On Tatooine, banthas hide from krayt dragons by traveling in a herd — the harder to pluck one out and devour it. A lone shuttle will draw suspicion, but an armada striking with a tactical advantage will disguise the very shuttle they’re not looking for.”

“That’s a gamble,” Obi-Wan said, and Padmé nodded in agreement.

Bail sat forward in his seat. “Maybe not.” He gestured between himself and Padmé. “Our efforts were discovered. Padawan Skywalker is right: moving with the fleet will offer us the necessary protection.” He turned to Obi-Wan. “Do you know the location of the next engagement?”

Obi-Wan scratched his beard. “The attack on Geonosis was handled without Jedi supervision, so I can’t account for that. … The next Jedi-led engagement will be at Utapau.”

Anakin sat up straight. “That’s close to Kyre III — ”

“ — where Master Homun encounter the Sith,” Obi-Wan finished.

Padmé reeled. “Sith? The … one with the tattoos?” The one who had battled them on Tatooine, nearly killed Obi-Wan, and manhandled her like a common shaak. Padmé suppressed a shudder. Anakin must have sensed her distress because his blue eyes met hers square on.

“The same,” Anakin said, voice pitched low for comfort. “He’s calling out Master Obi-Wan and we’ve decided to face him head on.”

Padmé inhaled, stamping down on her fear. Jedi risked their lives in dedication to the galaxy, this war being no different, so her fear would be an unnecessary distraction. If Anakin and Obi-Wan were courageous in this fight, then she would be, too. For Naboo.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Darth Maul swept onto the bridge of the _Invisible Hand_ . Clone soldiers manned the consoles, identical heads, identical uniforms, a wall of sameness that if he ran them through with his lightsaber, more would take their place. Out the viewport, Utapau shone as a pale green orb with white cloud swirling across the hemisphere. Four other _Providence_ -class dreadnoughts hovered in planetary orbit, joined by a _Subjugator_ -class heavy cruiser, the _Malevolence_ , the only one of its kind.

At the center of the bridge was the ship’s commander, a clone with rank tabs on his shoulder. He cast a quick glance at Maul, then returned his attention to his duties.

Maul reveled in the thought of slaughtering a few hundred clones just to work out his aggression. Beginning with this one. “Where is General Grievous?”

The clone commander gave him another look. “The General is on the surface with the Separatist Council.” The tone implied Maul should know that. The slaughter would be glorious.

Maul swept back his hood, revealing his horns. The clone commander blinked in mild surprise, but didn’t appear overly affected. “Contact him. Lord Maul has a message. The Council are to go to the Mustafar System in the Outer Rim. It is a volcanic planet, which generates a great deal of scanning interference. It will be the new base of operations.”

Now he had the commander’s attention, the clone’s brown eyes fixed. “You suspect an attack?”

Maul pulled back his lips to bare his teeth. The commander cringed. A satisfying sight. “I suspect everything.”

With that, he left the bridge, his lips settling in a flat line. Losing Utapau was negligible — losing the Council would jeopardize everything. Lord Sidious had planned for every possibility, every misstep, and Maul was impressed by the patience his master had displayed. The upcoming Battle of Utapau was a necessary sacrifice in pursuit of the larger gain. Maul, too, had his own gains, and the machinations and manipulations to force the Republic into this war was merely the fulcrum of a larger plan to exact vengeance upon the Jedi.

One thousand generations ago, the Sith had ruled the galaxy. Then the Jedi toppled their empire and the glory of the Sith were reduced to the “rule of two”, a Master and an apprentice. Lord Sidious had encouraged the darkness in Maul, twisted his body to bend to the hatred, opened his mind to the anger at the core of his being. Harnessing the Dark Side of the Force had been a lesson in seduction, a wrath embracing his heart with the torture of fire. Maul had never felt more alive.

The destruction of the Jedi would be drawn out with glorious agony, but that didn’t mean that Maul couldn’t have his fun, too. Which was why he made his way down to the brig.

Prisoners of war were usually shipped off to one of the many prison camps scattered through Separatist space or, if they were especially troublesome, Geonosis for execution. Special guests, however, were kept secured where they would never be found. The petty officer in charge of the brig snapped to attention and allowed Maul to breeze by without words.

A specialist on patrol, too, snapped to attention, and Maul ignored him. The cell at the end of the block was his target. The door melded into the bulkhead, no security panel to allow access. Anyone who didn’t know that it was here would ignore it outright. Maul paused to take in the presence swirling through the Force. At peace … passive … Meditation. He snarled, then input the security code on his wrist gauntlet. The door slid open with a hiss and Maul entered, programming it to lock again. Overhead lighting kept the corners in shadow and cast a spotlight the person kneeling in repose.

Jedi Master Shaak Ti kept her composure, face impassive, eyes closed. The gray and white stripes on her montrals and head tails framed a face of red and white. The Togruta had not put up much of a fight once she had been taken at the Battle of Neik Maa, but that worked to Maul’s advantage. He didn’t bother rousing her; she knew he was there.

He had to leave another clue for Obi-Wan to follow. Sadly, it would mean an end to Maul’s game, but so was the sacrifice. He allowed himself a slow smile, the violence stirring within him. “It’s time.”

 


	7. "You fought in the Clone Wars?"

 

The Jedi General, Master Eeth Koth, escorted Obi-Wan, Anakin, Bail, and Padmé into the briefing room where Master Depa Billaba waited. Both Masters expressed their befuddlement; neither had requested reinforcements, but welcomed them all the same. When Obi-Wan explained their reason for joining the fleet, the Masters were startled, yet, understanding. The death of their brethren, especially at the hands of a Sith Lord, had to be stopped. Obi-Wan swallowed a retort about stopping the war _itself_ in order to save the Jedi.

Obi-Wan leaned against the bulkhead, arms wrapped around his torso. He wasn’t contemplative or even cold, but the horns on Master Koth’s head announcing his status as an Iridonian Zabrak were too familiar to be comfortable.

Master Depa Billaba keyed the console and the tabletop lit up with satellite images of Utapau, a pale green atmosphere ringed by swirls of white clouds. She toggled through other images, broke atmo, and penetrated down to the surface of the planet. Holes pockmarked Utapau’s barren wastes, but as the images zoomed in, the holes stretched deep into the earth, populated by platforms where tall spires were built into the rock.

Master Billiba waved a hand at the tabletop display. “We’ve had a boon. Reports have been confirmed that the Separatist Council are harbored here. Count Dooku. Viceroy Gunray. General Grievous. We were merely going to seize the Separatist Intelligence cache on the planet’s surface, but if we take Utapau, we can end this war.”

Padmé gasped. She grinned, then gripped Bail’s hand, her excitement palpable. Even the Prince gave a pleased huff. Anakin held his silence, but Obi-Wan spoke the obvious: “Assuming the intel is accurate.”

Master Koth looked over his shoulder, the thick tail of his hair tucked close to his jaw line. “The Republic’s best analysts confirmed it. This is real.”

Obi-Wan settled back, his shoulder blades flush against the unforgiving bulkhead. He didn’t want to fight yet another battle, not so soon after their temporary furlough. “What’s your plan?”

Master Billaba toggled through another set of images, these showing a space-eye view of the planet. Five _Providence_ -class dreadnoughts and a _Subjugator_ -class heavy cruiser were in orbit. “I will lead the attack on the Separatist capital ships. Master Koth will head down to the surface of the planet and arrest the Council.”

Obi-Wan eyed her, waiting for the rest. Impatient, but fighting it, he spread his hands, unable to curb the edge in his voice. “And?”

Anakin started, twisting in his seat to give Obi-Wan a look, blue eyes searching. Master Billiba’s brow furrowed, the jewel there unmoved. A frown on Master Koth’s face pulled his tattoos into elongated designs. Even Padmé and Bail sensed something was off, glancing at the Jedi, then at Obi-Wan.

This time Master Koth toggled the tabletop display. Thermal images appeared, white and gray showing the hollows and solids. “Thermalized topography have shown an extensive tunnel network. We need you and your Padawan to lead teams clearing them out.”

Obi-Wan stepped closer to the table, arms loose at his side. He studied the thermal images, noting the bisections and dead ends. The rules of engagement wouldn’t allow for survivors, not anymore. Not since the Jedi Council made the tough choice. Obi-Wan nodded, unable to voice his agreement, but drawn to his duties nevertheless.

He handed his robe to Bail, Anakin handing his to Padmé. Master Billiba said, “May the Force be with you,” before Master Koth led Obi-Wan and Anakin to the hangar bay. The clank of panels announced the battalion of Republic troopers waiting there. The white panel armor gleamed under the bright lights, the only similarity among them. With their helmets in hand, Obi-Wan spotted humans from Coruscant and Corellia, species from Oopl, Farush, Runta-KeeNar, and those he could not name. Commanders wearing yellow on their arms divided the troopers into squads. The squads loaded into Republic Nu-class attack shuttles, a fleet of them. Master Koth directed Anakin to one shuttle, Obi-Wan to another. Obi-Wan traded a nod with his Padawan, then ducked inside.

The shuttle’s interior had been built for economy and practicality. Two rows of benches faced each other across an aisle, holding four squads of troopers along with their sergeants in pesto colored arms, forty troops total. The platoon lieutenant with blue arms and scuffed armor introduced herself as “Belvian”. Sky blue skin, white hair, solid black eyes. No explanation whether Belvian was a family name or what. She sat next to him, the panels rubbing against Obi-Wan’s leg. He watched her secure a rappelling harness stored under the seat, and did the same.

The attack shuttle lurched, then acceleration eased him back against the bulkhead. In the dim light of the fuselage, the Republic troopers kept their helmets on their knees, the easier to see the alarm on their faces. A lot of “shinies”, Obi-Wan realized, the slang seasoned soldiers gave to the ones who had yet to lose the shine of their armor. The attack shuttle lurched again, the pressure of atmosphere pressing on his skin, and the whistle of rockets sounded. Belvian shouted the command, “Platoon, ready!”

The Republic troopers slipped the helmets on, the uniform designed to fit any head shape, within reason. Obi-Wan dropped a hand to his lightsaber.

More rockets whistled around them, the explosions distant echoes. Belvian’s next order crackled through the helmet’s speaker: “Platoon, up!”

The troops rose to their feet, indistinguishable from the other, and shuffled forward to the hatch. Obi-Wan assumed the lead. Belvian took the spot right behind him.

At last, their altitude stabilized and the attack shuttle glided to a hover. More rockets whistled out of their bays, more explosions thundered close by. Obi-Wan gave a nod and Belvian punched the release. The hatch lowered. The screech of ripping metal, the roar of explosions, the whistle of rockets swelled into a cacophony of horror. Dry wind whipped into the fuselage, slapping Obi-Wan’s hair into his eyes. He squinted against the grit and secured his harness on the rappel line as it unraveled down, down, down. Then he took a deep breath and jumped.

Obi-Wan plummeted like a rock. Overhead, Republic troopers leapt out of the attack shuttle one after the other in an endless stream. Two other attack shuttles hovered over the cavernous hole in the ground, the line of troops identical. V-wing starfighters howled past on their rounds, their green laser blasts igniting the anti-aircraft turrets. A missile arced past their attack shuttle to slam into the shuttle on the right. A red-orange fireball consumed the vehicle and white plate armor spiraled into the air. The rappel lines snapped and the Republic troopers crashed together into twisted limbs before plummeting to the chasm below. Obi-Wan shut his eyes and waited for his turn.

His feet slammed into rock, his knees buckled, and he fell back on his training. Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan tucked into a roll, sprang to his feet, and took cover behind a boulder. He finally had a look at his surroundings.

Striations marred the chasm walls, the telltale sign that the formation had been a natural sinkhole, not at all hand carved. The angle of the sun cast a heavy shadow this deep into the chasm, the light touching only the lip of the rim.

Thirty Republic troopers, two sergeants, and Lieutenant Belvian ducked down behind Obi-Wan’s hiding place, their rifles out. They had lost eight. Obi-Wan eyed the tunnel to their left, and then palmed his lightsaber and gestured for the platoon to follow.

Keeping low, Obi-Wan crept into cavern, the duskiness forcing him to blink until his eyes adjusted. The noise of battle dimmed to a distant echo. Obi-Wan gestured and the team broke into two groups, fifteen led by Belvian and a sergeant and fifteen following a sergeant and Obi-Wan.

The interior of the chasm was extensive. An explosion hurled dust into the air. From a place to his right, blasters erupted. Belvian, then.

The scent of smoke lured him onwards. The rocky corridor ended at an jagged outcrop. A ledge plunged down to a oval room carved out of solid rock. Here, a dozen Separatist commandos in their red armor were scrambling to toss data tapes onto a pyre. Obi-Wan bit back a swear.

With a sharp wave, Obi-Wan instructed half the squad to break off and head around. A sergeant with a pesto arm nodded, then led a squad down a corridor and around a corner. Obi-Wan flattened his hand to indicate that the remaining troops should stay put and provide cover. Obi-Wan grabbed the cable off his utility belt, anchored it into place, and then secured his harness. He jumped off the ledge, free-falling for the second time in so many minutes.

He landed in a roll, the impact of his boots on stone echoing in the chamber. As he rolled to his feet, he heard shouts, blaster fire, and then he was up, lightsaber lit and humming with the movement as he deflected blaster bolts from clone commandos. The Republic troopers overhead picked off commandos as they poured into the room and Obi-Wan maintained his ground, but the flood of commandos wouldn’t stop. At last, the tables turned when Anakin and his platoon made a surprise arrival, the blue lightsaber slicing through commandos, the Republic troopers taking cover.

The squad Obi-Wan had sent around arrived in time to finish off the last of the clone commandos and when it was over, he counted fourteen lost troopers. Obi-Wan rifled through a drawer of data tapes, leaving Anakin to extinguish the fire. The drawers were half-empty. Obi-Wan grabbed a tape at random, slipped it into the console, and watched the screen light up with black and white illustrations. It looked like a hyperspace path, and the Aurebesh on the side confirmed that it was the trade route to Coruscant. The tape ended.

Anakin hovered closer. “Disguise their capital ships as trade vessels and the payload would be Coruscant’s destruction.”

Obi-Wan ripped the tape out and placed it with the others. He waved Belvian over. She popped off her helmet. “Gather these data tapes and get them to Admiral Zertes, Forward Command. Let her know it’s priority one.” Belvian nodded, then she ordered six Republic troopers to complete the task. Obi-Wan headed for the exit, Anakin’s footfalls right behind him.

As they entered the corridor to head back to the surface, Anakin said, “We’re leaving?”

Obi-Wan spared him a glance, feeling his own lips curl in distaste. “We didn’t come here for this.” As an afterthought, he snatched off the harness and threw it to the ground.

“But it’s a boon. We’ve just discovered battle plans for the next military engagement. Think of all the lives we could save.”

Obi-Wan frowned. It would still mean lives in the crossfire.

Anakin grabbed his arm, swinging him around. His apprentice’s face was pulled taut, annoyance outweighing incredulity. “You want to end this war, but on your terms?”

“No!” Obi-Wan backed off, inhaled, and found his center. “We were lead here under false intelligence. They knew we were coming.”

Anakin’s lips pressed into a thin line, worry creasing his brow. “Starting to believe there’s a mole?”

Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “The Jedi have to take the lead by default and we can’t …” He ran out of steam, the argument too complex to summarize. “We need to go.”

A muted explosion shook the cavern, pebbles falling on their heads. Obi-Wan and Anakin swiped the debris from their hair, but another explosion rocked the tunnel, closer than the first. Dust rose around them. Obi-Wan caught Anakin’s eye, then they broke into a run. The next three explosions thundered in rapid succession.

They reached the tunnel’s entrance. The wreck of a Republic attack shuttle was engulfed in flames, black smoke billowing to the sky. Republic troops were scattered, their white armor pieces visible through violet and red and green chunks. Overhead, a _Subjugator_ -class dreadnought was low in orbit and its red turbolasers ploughed into the caverns of Utapau. One such turbolaser slammed into the rock overhead, the upper terraces splintering on impact. Shards tumbled down in a thundering wave. In seconds, a rock slide hurled down the cliff side. Obi-Wan shoved Anakin out of the way. Pain flared briefly before Obi-Wan surrendered to unconsciousness.

 


	8. "Wars not make one great."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been reading so far, you know I have multiple sclerosis. I try to write regardless of my symptoms, but I notice my productivity is degrading. I try to write everyday, but at most I can complete a paragraph. On a good day, I can complete three pages. At the height of my game, I could write eight to nine pages everyday.
> 
> I mourn my loss of acuity, but with an new lesion in my left frontal cortex (the size of a thumb) I don't know what the future will bring. My MS symptoms are different everyday, so I try my best to do my best. That means that I will continue with The Revised Prequels until they are complete. It may take longer than I had anticipated, but I hope you are along for the ride.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy the next chapter.

 

The shove sent Anakin stumbling backwards. He landed hard on his back and the air left his lungs in a _oof!_ He winced, gasped, then heard the crash of rocks where he once stood. Dust billowed and Anakin hacked to clear his lungs. When the dust settled, he saw that the rock slide had blocked the way between himself and the cave — cutting him off from Obi-Wan.

Another turbolaser blast slammed into an attack shuttle. The explosion thundered. Metal crunched and spat outward in a concussive wave. The shrapnel sailed through the air like jagged death. Anakin scrambled to his feet and took cover under an outcropping. A large shard pierced the rock where Anakin’s head had been. That was two.

At the chasm to his left, white panel armor huddled together, pinned as Separatist MagnaGuard fighters howled past and unleashed a wave of red lasers blasts. The multiple impacts spewed pebbles into the air, but the angle of the caverns saved the Republic troops. A few of the troops took pot shots at the enemy fighters, but all around was chaos. The troops caught out screamed as the laser blasts hit them hard enough to slam them into the ground, where they stayed. One trooper dodged laser fire, but crossed into the path of a rocket. The impact ended in red mist and white splinters.

This wasn’t a battle, but a massacre.

To Anakin’s left, a cavern housed three Republic troops. Taking a deep breath, Anakin palmed his lightsaber and darted out of hiding. He felt the Force flow through him, an active presence that alerted him to danger. _Step here, that way, wait, go!_ A siren blast of a warning had him ignite his lightsaber and twirl. The blue blade hummed in a wide arc. At that moment, two MagnaGuard fighters howled by overhead, unleashing a barrage of red laser blasts. Anakin allowed the Force to guide him. He planted his feet and deflected two laser blasts at once, the impact ringing up his arms and driving him backwards in a skid. The deflected lasers missed the first fighter, but arced away toward the second. One deflected laser blast struck a wing. Smoke billowed as the starfighter tipped. The second deflected laser blast struck the starfighter’s engine port. Flames erupted. That killed the starfighter’s momentum and it stopped dead in midair. As though suspended in time, the starfighter hovered for a second that seemed to go on forever. And then the starfighter plummeted through the air, down into the chasm, trailing smoke and flames. At last, it slammed into a ledge and exploded in a thunderous echo.

It couldn’t have been more than a handful of moments, but to Anakin it lasted a star’s age. He deactivated his lightsaber, turned, and joined the Republic troops hiding at the cavern entrance. One lieutenant with blue on the panel armor lifted her helmet to reveal the blue-skinned Odaimio, Belvian. This war must have far reaches for an Unknown Regions Odaimio to join up. “Sir.”

Anakin leaned close and raised his voice to speak over the noise. “We need to call in reinforcements.”

“I tried.” She lifted the communicator off her belt. “We’re being jammed.”

If he could find a console, he could break through the jamming signal. Anakin swept his arm out in an all-encompassing gesture. “Inside.” He led the four Republic troops into the cavern. The dimness from earlier gave way to absolute darkness. A power generator must have been ruptured sometime during the battle. Anakin ignited his lightsaber; the blue glow cast jagged shadows in the rock. He traced his previous steps back to the console, when he had led the squads in a flanking maneuver.

The console looked just as they left it, surrounded by smoldering data tapes, except when Anakin waved his lightsaber to illuminate the screen, it showed dark. Of course, the power generator. He paced the room, searching and found a solar cell in a corner. Anakin used his lightsaber to slice off the console’s side panel, and then called on the Force to hold his lightsaber aloft while he worked. Anakin ran the wires from the console to the solar cell, then returned to the console, and accessed the mainframe.

His fingers flew over the keys. He could send a transmission directly to the Star Destroyer _Justice_ , but the difficulty was in getting past any security defenses. No one on board would believe the message, not from a Separatist signature, so he would have to encode it. 

* * *

 “General.”

Padmé turned just as Master Billaba did, the male human communications officer watching his console in confusion. “Yes, Private, what is it?” the Jedi Master said.

“I’m getting a distress signal from the surface of the planet.”

“Master Koth?”

“I don’t think so.”

Master Billaba closed the distance, her cloak billowing out behind her. “You don’t think so? How hard is it to know the origin?”

“It’s from a Separatist code,” the communications officer said. “And it mentions Her Majesty.”

The officer turned, Master Billaba, too, and Padmé caught Bail’s eye, curiosity firing in near visible sparks between them. “What does it say?” Padmé gripped Anakin’s robe in her arms, hoping against the worst.

The communications officer read the transmission: “Code red. Reinforcements needed. Find Separatist warships. Ask the Queen where she was injured on Geonosis.”

“My back!” Padmé heard the words spill from her lips without a censure. The noise made her blink — finishing school mistresses would have a word about that — but it didn’t matter. “It’s Anakin. Master, it’s Anakin.”

Master Billaba nodded, then turned to the communications officer. “Send a reply.”

“Sorry, General, Republic channels on the surface are being jammed.”

“Find Separatist warships,” Master Billaba muttered the words as though tasting them. When the Jedi Master escorted Padmé and Bail to the bridge, they had witnessed the attack shuttles enter Utapau’s atmosphere, and nothing since. The Separatists’ four _Providence_ -class dreadnoughts and one _Subjugator_ -class heavy cruiser hadn’t shown up on any scans — previous intelligence proving itself out of date. Master Billaba stalked over to the female human navigation officer. “Scan the surrounding system for any ion activity.”

The navigation officer’s fingers flashed over the console. “There’s a storm on the far side of the planet. Are those the readings you’re looking for, General?”

Padmé watched Master Billaba step back, face the viewport, and grow still. The very atmosphere on the bridge seemed to become fluid. Padmé had no other way to describe it. She had been around Anakin when he used the Force, calling objects to his hand or the time when he caught her on Geonosis, but it never felt like this. This was warmth wrapped in comfort, a presence that permeated her perceptions and unmade what she had once considered profound. She wasn’t Force-sensitive — didn’t even know if she wanted to be — but if Anakin were right and every living thing was the Force, then she felt whole for the first time in her life. Then, just like that, Master Billaba spoke and the trance broke. “They’re hiding in the storm. All ships orbit the planet. Prepare the batteries.”

“Yes, General.”

The deck under Padmé’s feet ceased shuddering once the engines were killed. Suddenly, pressure pushed her sideways into Bail. He caught her and they leaned against the bulkhead as the Star Destroyer _Justice_ entered a drift. Grabbed by the planet’s gravity, and paired with the curvature, the forward velocity dragged them along. Padmé watched, amazed, as the sickly green surface of the planet swept by below with only swirling clouds breaking up the monotony. In mere minutes, four Separatist dreadnoughts came into view, hovering near the eye of a storm. Before their turbolasers could unleash upon the _Justice_ , Master Billaba ordered, “Break orbit. Shields up. All batteries fire at will.”

The deck rumbled to life with the return of the engines. They ceased the drift and blue turbolasers exploded out of their bays and slammed into the Separatist dreadnoughts. Red turbolasers responded, bright bursts that splashed across the viewscreen. The spark of electric blue flared across the shield and Padmé blinked the spots out of her vision.

Master Billaba watched the viewport, unmoved. “All ships deploy the fighters.”

V-wings sailed past. They unleashed green lasers on the Separatists dreadnoughts. In response, Separatist MagnaGuard starfighters sailed out of the docking bays. Red lasers faced off against green lasers, the flames of explosions dotting the blackness of space.

Suddenly, the deck lurched — a direct hit.

“General, we were hit with a mine.”

“Brace yourselves!”

Padmé threw herself into an empty chair and held her breath, Anakin’s robe a comforting presence. Bail just made it to his own chair when the mine detonated. The explosion rippled. Low rumblings felt through the deck plates slowly bloomed into an outright rattle. The deck buckled. Through the warped plates, repeated explosions thundered in electric blue and red, and smoke billowed into the bridge. People coughed. Lights flickered. The Star Destroyer began to list, straighten, then list again, a struggle to stay afloat.

“Damage report,” Master Billaba said.

“Multiple decks are reporting damage. The lateral controls are damaged. Life support systems are still functional.”

Padmé, at last, drew a breath and gagged. The metallic stench burned deep in her lungs. Gray haze obscured the bridge and Padmé squinted to see Master Billaba manage to grab a console, leaning hard to compensate for the sloping deck.

Out the viewport, a MagnaGuard slammed directly into the shield and exploded in a ball of flames. Padmé cried out, burying her face in Anakin’s robe. For a second, she swore she saw the eyes of the pilot, a familiar cloned brown. “Shields are down!” an officer cried. When Padmé looked again, a squad of MagnaGuards sailed toward the _Justice_ and unleashed a hail of red lasers. The viewport sparked with ricochets, and one of the transparisteel panels cracked down the middle. “General, we can’t survive another hit.”

Padmé shared a look with Bail. He looked stiff, as though trying to put on a brave face. After all, what did they think was going to happen once they entered a war zone?

And then, like a blessing from the Force, a flotilla dropped of hyperspace and opened fire. MagnaGuard starfighters disappeared in a shower of explosions. The flotilla was comprised of four different ships, all of them in various states of patchwork repair. The largest ship aimed a forward cannon at a _Providence_ -class dreadnought and unleashed a cannon blast so large it made spots dance in Padmé’s vision. The green heavy turbolaser slammed into the Separatist dreadnought and the ship erupted into flames. Once the fire dissipated in the vacuum of space, the Separatist dreadnought drifted in a two halves, debris and bodies floating around it.

Padmé swallowed her sick. Those clones deserved better.

The flotilla had advanced armament, heavy turbolasers that blasted holes into Separatist dreadnoughts and guidance missiles that never missed their mark. One missile pierced the atmosphere and Padmé didn’t see where it went after that. The battle ended with the Separatist ships in pockmarked disarray.

“The Separatists are signaling a surrender,” the communications officer said.

Master Billaba pushed herself upright against the console and turned to the ordnance officer. “All ships fire everything. No quarter.”

Padmé gasped. “What? No!”

But it was too late. The bays rumbled underfoot, the deck plates rattling, as blue turbolasers and the yellow streaks of rockets pounded what remained of the Separatist ships. Padmé’s eyes burned. Her vision blurred and warm tears rolls down her cheeks as she watched the Separatist dreadnoughts get pounded into smithereens. She turned away, burying her face in Anakin’s cloak. It smelled like him, like earth and sun and musk. Her heart hurt; she wanted him here.

A hand landed on her arm. Padmé turned to see Bail, his face crumpled in pain. He may not understand fully what she felt for the clones, but his compassion spoke volumes.

Once the deck fell silent, Padmé dried her eyes on Anakin’s robe, but refused to turn to see the devastation. She had enough war for a lifetime. The comm unit crackled to life.

“This is the _Pierced Haul_ contacting Republic Destroyer. Any survivors?”

Now Padmé turned. She knew that voice. Though they had only crossed paths the one time, the lilting nature and commanding resonance could not be mistaken. Master Billaba, too, recognized the voice because she reached over the console and flipped a switch. “Master Qui-Gon Jinn, you were just in time.” 

* * *

Obi-Wan came around, choking on dust. He coughed and the pain in his head spasmed like knives through his skull, knocking the cobwebs clear from his mind. He opened his eyes, face smashed into the dirt, and took stock of his body. The back of his head throbbed. He touched the area and his fingers came away bloody. Obi-Wan winced, pushed himself up, and took in his surroundings.

The rock slide had blocked the cavern’s entrance. Yellow-white shafts of light pierced the places where the jagged shards didn’t quite connect. Obi-Wan staggered over to the debris and grabbed a rock. The entire wall shuddered, pebbles tumbling to his feet. A groan and a thud, then the pile shifted until it collapsed on itself, shutting out the light entirely. Obi-Wan backed away.

The silence coming from beyond the rock wall meant that he must have been unconscious for a while. No doubts the Separatists had been expecting them, drawing them in and then launching a surprise attack, catching them penned in and defenseless. He only hoped enough troops had escaped and that the battle in orbit had not been as defeating.

He had pushed Anakin clear — he remembered that much. Thus, his Padawan would be searching for him. Hopefully, they would meet on the way and not miss one another. That would be embarrassing.

According to the thermal images, the tunnels connected to a main outlet somewhere deep in the cliffs, and from there he could find a way to the surface. Obi-Wan turned, waited for the world to stop spinning, and squinted past the dimness. A power generator must have been destroyed during the battle. Ambient light cast from some unknown source broke through the dimness, dust swirling in the rays like pollen in the breeze. He retraced his steps, ready to find another way out.

He reached a junction and stopped. A shivered worked its way down his spine. Obi-Wan felt cold steal over him, the presence of death clawing at his insides. Within the darkness, however, lurked a calming balm … at ease … at peace … Obi-Wan gasped, his suspicions running ahead of him. The crunch of his boots carried him forward.

He came to a section of bifurcated rock and paused to run his hand over the smooth slashes in the stone. The excoriations only could have been made with a lightsaber. Obi-Wan swallowed and continued on. When he happened upon another bifurcation, realization struck him mute because the stone only could have been Force-pushed to create a pathway.

Obi-Wan entered a chamber. Light spilled in from the upper corner. It cut at an angle, washing half the chamber in harsh brilliance while the other half remained in shadow. Obi-Wan caught his breath because, here, the Dark Side of the Force pulsed like a living, breathing thing. A dark form moved against the darkness.

“Are you ready, Obi-Wan?”

The voice growled, familiar, terrifying. Obi-Wan’s hand flew to his lightsaber without his permission and it ignited with a _snap-hiss_ before he could think. He released his fear into the Force. Anakin had vowed to be here for this, but Obi-Wan couldn’t fault him. The Force was his guide. With a steady crunch of booted feet, two forms stepped out of the darkness.

Obi-Wan’s heart sank, his lightsaber blade pointing to the ground. “Shaak Ti.”

The Togruta Jedi had been MIA since the Battle of Neik Maa. She looked unharmed, her eyes closed, her head tails lax, but that didn’t mean anything. Not one for complaining, Master Shaak Ti maintained a serenity unmatched even by Master Yoda.

The one standing behind her, his gloved hand squeezing her shoulder, had his hood pulled up, his face cast in darkness, but the yellow eyes glowed, ringed in red and violence.

Their standoff ended in a rush of action. Maul shoved Master Ti to her knees, ignited his crimson lightsaber, and ran her through. Now her eyes flew open, her jaw dropped, her hands spasmed at her sides. Obi-Wan heard his scream echoing off the chamber walls, shock and despair wrapped around one word, “NO!”

The red blade withdrew and Shaak Ti fell, landing in an undignified lump of limbs and robes. Obi-Wan froze, caught between reaching for her or holding his ground. The red lightsaber remained aloft, ready for the first blow. Why Maul didn’t attack, Obi-Wan could guess. It was the same as killing the Jedi to get to Obi-Wan, leaving the trail of clues as well as a message: _I told you we would meet again._

Obi-Wan straightened out of his stance, deactivated his lightsaber, and dropped it. It landed with a muffled thud. If Obi-Wan attacked, he would be no better than the Sith — it wasn’t the Jedi way. Obi-Wan dropped to his knees, the grit digging into his flesh. He hung his head and shut his eyes to block out Shaak Ti’s body.

“Do it.” He heard the words through a filter, more breath than sound. “If it means no more dead Jedi, then do it.”

Maul’s presence flared with uncertainty. The hum of his lightsaber grew closer, the buzz loud in Obi-Wan’s ears. Lightsabers generated heat because of their constant contact with the air and Obi-Wan felt the lightning spark sizzling the hairs on his chin. When he inhaled, his lungs burned with ozone.

He wasn’t afraid to die.

“No,” Maul growled. The lightsaber was deactivated all at once and Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see Maul secure the handle in the folds of his robe. Darth Maul dropped onto his haunches, eye level, yellow irises ringed in red and malice. “You’re not broken, yet. I still have work to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The science here is a little fudged, but that's what space fantasy is all about, right?


	9. "You are reckless."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Word. I'm back and (slightly) better than ever. Honestly, I'm on new medication (my third) and I feel better. Not good, just better, and I notice how my thoughts can coalesce into rational meanings instead of being scattered. Multiple sclerosis is not fun. I'm nowhere near where I used to be writing-wise, but I'm better than I've been in the past year. I'm calling that a win.
> 
> Here's to completing The Phantom Menace because I have some IDEAS for Revenge of the Sith. Thank you to all who've stuck with this story and please enjoy! :)

 

The explosion rocked the chamber, louder than a simple turbolaser blast. Dust shook from the eaves and pebbles scattered down the walls. Navigating by lightsaber, Anakin led Belvian and her team outside just in time to see the _Subjugator_ -class dreadnought scatter into bits, those bits tumbling into the chasm below. Whatever had destroyed the dreadnought had yet to show itself. Anakin deactivated his lightsaber, but kept it in hand just in case they had traded out rescue for imprisonment.

In minutes, quiet stole over the chasm. Not a silence — that would imply an absence of sound — but the chaos of battle gave way to a muted peace. The cries of the wounded filtered in. Thready voices rising in muffled horror. Anakin allowed himself a moment to breathe.

Triage revealed Master Koth nursing a blaster wound to the abdomen and leaning heavily against a Human Sergeant, who had lost his helmet. The Master and his squad had survived an ambush in the very room where the Separatist Council were meant to be. Master Koth and only four troopers made it our alive.

A medic commandeered an empty landing platform where they could sort through the wounded, and Anakin joined the conscripts in tending to the dead. He removed plate armor and tossed it to the side, much of it still shiny, and the faces when revealed were too young. Anakin wrapped a young, human male in a parafoil and tucked in the edges until the folds were smooth.

The rush of thrusters cut the silence. Six mismatched shuttles of unknown affiliation sailed through the atmosphere. They spread out, then set down on various landing pads. A troop raised a blaster rifle, but Anakin placed his hand on the weapon and lowered it. He sensed a presence in the Force. One shuttle touched down on their landing pad. The gangplank lowered and a tall, human male emerged. The lightsaber swinging at his hip announced him as a Jedi. Anakin blinked, recalling where he had last seen this person, on Coruscant when Anakin had been accepted as a Padawan. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. His hair was more wild and his beard and goatee were rangy in a cocksure fashion. He forewent his robe. Other species followed down the gangplank. Qui-Gon headed straight for Anakin.

Anakin bowed. “Master Jinn.”

“Padawan Skywalker.” His sharp eyes took in the triage station, then the surrounding cliffs. “Where’s Master Kenobi?”

There would never be a time to be embarrassed; the needs of the moment outweighed other responsibilities. Besides, Obi-Wan would understand. Still, the doubt crept at him. Anakin worked in tandem with Master Jinn to loosen the stones and allow them to settle to one side. He left word with a Lieutenant that if they didn’t make it back in a half chrono hour, then a team were to come after them.

The tunnel looked like all the others on this planet, his eyes having grown accustomed to the dimness. They came to a bifurcation in the rock and Anakin suddenly realized that the stone had been cut and Force-pushed to create a pathway. Following it, they entered a room split between the shadow on one side and light spilling in from the other. In the pool of light was a familiar Togruta. Anakin hurried forward, dropping to his knees and cradling Master Shaak Ti’s head. Doing so turned her torso around, revealing the lightsaber burn in her torso. When the light hit it just right, he could see straight through it.

Anakin shut his eyes, disgusted. Only a lightsaber could have done this — only a Sith could kill a Jedi. Such a realization made a thought crash through his mind. If Master Shaak Ti was here, then where was the Sith?

Qui-Gon looked down at Master Shaak Ti, his face unreadable, but he said what Anakin only allowed himself to think: “If the Sith did this, where is Master Obi-Wan?”

* * *

The blow snapped his head to the side, the world spinning. The pain collapsed his thoughts to a pinpoint of fire and Obi-Wan’s vision grayed out. He felt himself falling. The impact made his head bounce. He swallowed against the nausea churning in his gut. Footsteps neared and he felt the Dark Side blanket over him like a field of nettles.

It terrified him.

“Pick it up.”

The voice already tormented his nightmares; now, it would follow him into his dreams. Muscles throbbed in time with his heartbeat, sub-dermal bruising caused by the Dark Lord. Fists had fractured ribs, split his lip, broke the bone in his cheek. A systematic beating to drive Obi-Wan to fight back. Darth Maul was doing what he had promised, to break Obi-Wan, but a Jedi did not give in to the Dark Side. A Jedi did not take his vengeance.

Even now, Obi-Wan turned his face aside, his eyes opening to see the sleek casing of his lightsaber within arm’s reach. So easy to touch. So easy to end this torment.

A booted foot slammed into Obi-Wan’s fractured ribs. He choked, an arm going around his midsection and he curled his knees up. The pain in his side and lungs sharpened until he felt nothing but agony. He managed shallow gasps, every breath slicing like a knife. The boot came down on his calf and Obi-Wan released a choked off cry of torture, his lungs unwilling to take in enough air to let the scream carry. Darth Maul had the perverse desire to see suffering and possessed the capacity to make it happen. He would never kill Obi-Wan — that wasn’t the plan — but he would see him break.

Metal clattered against stone, the noise close to Obi-Wan nose. He pried open eyes he didn’t realize had closed and saw his lightsaber, the cylinder completed a roll as it followed the natural dip in the stone. Obi-Wan shook. If he could see himself, he wouldn’t recognize the stranger staring back. One eye bloodshot, the other swelling. A nose broken and bleeding, bone protruding from the fracture. Lip split, the blood dribbling down his chin.

He could not surrender. He would not.

“Pick it up.”

Obi-Wan shut his eyes and released his emotions into the Force.

The _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber shattered the silence. He breathed in the ozone, shallow inhales that would not disturb his fractured ribs. And then lightning seared Obi-Wan’s arm. He had felt the kiss of a lightsaber years ago on Tatooine, when he overestimated himself and had a fire in his belly for his troubles. Whereas that incident had been a quick dispatch to get the Jedi out of the way, in that it had felt like forever, this _was_ forever. He screamed from somewhere deep inside, a place that only knew emotion, beyond pain, only feeling. But the sub-vocal sizzle of his skin didn’t stop, unrelenting sadism etching into his flesh. Shoulder to elbow and beyond.

Suddenly, the pain stopped and Obi-Wan gasped, the sound of his screams fading into distant echoes. A new … _no_ … two new presences pulsed within the Force. He heard a robe rustle as Darth Maul turned, the lightsaber humming in response. Obi-Wan caught his breath and gingerly rolled onto his back.

Anakin gasped in horror. Carved into the rock, the hangar bay had a launch chute hollowed out of rock and aiming straight to the sky. The Sith Intercepter sat on the pad, waiting for take off. But what had grabbed Anakin’s heart and made his blood curdle, was hearing the screams. They followed the screams. When he and Qui-Gon had entered the hangar bay, when Anakin had seen the Sith Lord standing over Obi-Wan and carving into his arm with deliberate precision, Anakin felt a ripple of anger bubbling just under the surface. As he watched, the Sith turned toward them, lightsaber held to his side, a lax pose for someone pulsing with violence. And then Obi-Wan rolled onto his back and Anakin’s anger exploded.

Qui-Gon was a steadying presence in the Force, the green blade of his lightsaber activating with a clean _snap-hiss_. “We take him together. You go in slowly on the left — ”

The fury blazed. Anakin bared his teeth, not realizing the moment his lightsaber had come to his hand and activated without his conscious thought. “No, I’m taking him now!” He charged.

“No, Anakin. No!”

Too late. Anakin’s blue blade clashed with red, the contact screeching in the cavern and echoing off the walls. Like the way Obi-Wan’s screams had echoed. His fear that he failed his friend warred with his desire for revenge. Anakin allowed the emotions to surface, driving his movements, making him fluid.

Qui-Gon couldn’t find an opening the combatants moved so fast. Padawan Skywalker was strong in the Force and the Sith Lord moved like midnight cloaked in shadow. For a moment, he has a startling vision where the two Force users were suddenly two Sith, their red lightsabers clashing, their dark auras entwining. The vision vanished just as quickly and Qui-Gon gasped at the rush of cold that shot through him.

A moan caught his attention. As Padawan Skywalker’s battle with the Sith took them to the other side of the cavern, Master Kenobi was left on the ground, a ball of misery huddled into himself. Qui-Gon powered down his lightsaber and closed the distance. He knelt and inspected Kenobi’s injuries. The Jedi Master seemed incoherent, one eye swelling shut, the other bloodshot and open no wider than a slit. With such extensive injuries, he would need time in a bacta tank. Qui-Gon grabbed the lightsaber on the ground, determined to protect it and return it when the time came.

Anakin didn’t see it coming. He had been warned about his arrogance, Master Yoda calling it a Jedi’s downfall. But Anakin couldn’t have cared right then, not when his need to defend his friend fueled his actions. His connection to the Force was without flaw, not only obeying his command, but falling to his knees as his slave.

And then the Force went silent.

Anakin parried a blow. The second half of the dual blade activated with a _snap-hiss_. As Anakin spun to block the red blade coming up, but miscalculated, and then felt the white hot chaos rip through his arm. He cried out, the last thing he remembered before his world went dark.

Qui-Gon looked up just as Padawan Skywalker screamed. The young man’s arm landed on the ground and the Padawan crumpled. The Sith’s lightsaber had two active ends, the red blades humming in syncopation. Their deadly music swelled as the Sith twirled his lightsaber in a flashy move, raising his arms to strike a killing blow —

But Qui-Gon put on a burst of Force-speed, two lightsabers activating in his hands, and his long legs launched him across the chamber. The green and blue blades sang as they cross-blocked the red lightsaber before it could complete its arc. Qui-Gon looked up into the eyes of the Sith Lord hidden in the depths of the hood. Qui-Gon shoved his lightsabers up, throwing the red blade back, and Darth Maul attacked.

The dance required to stay ahead of the red blade took them to the farthest corners of the cavern. Qui-Gon had only fought with two lightsabers once before, back when he and a former apprentice had been in a losing situation and the young Padawan wasn’t skilled enough to deflect the laser blasts raining down on them. But that was defense. This was madness.

The Sith attacked with exceptional fury, movements smoother and quicker than lightning. Qui-Gon lost ground, gained it, the _humm_ and _hiss_ of the blades as they met the only music rising in the chamber. The Force controlled his actions; he was one with the Force.

Their battle came to a stalemate, blue blade pinned the red and the green held off the dual half, the blades hissing and snapping. Qui-Gon looked into the eyes of his opponent, seeing the matching realization that their battle was evenly matched.

That’s when another lightsaber ignited.

Maul swung his head around and grinned at what he saw. Obi-Wan, ripped, burned, bruised, battered, held his apprentice’s lightsaber in his good hand, the blue blade pointed at Maul. The Jedi had strength, Maul had to give him that.

As Obi-Wan swung his borrowed lightsaber, Maul shoved against the two blades holding him in a stalemate. The bigger Jedi Master stumbled back and that gave Maul enough time to twist out of the way. Obi-Wan’s swing breezed over his head. Maul flipped and rolled, putting distance between them. When he landed, ready to continue, he saw the combined might of the two Jedi Masters, three lightsabers versus his two. Not good odds.

Obi-Wan drew upon the Force for strength. He released his emotions, calm and peace at the core of his being. He had dragged himself over to Anakin … Obi-Wan fought against the anguish that his Padawan’s mangled body had arisen in him … and had found the strength in himself to take Anakin’s lightsaber and join in against Darth Maul. Even with Obi-Wan at half his capacity, one of his arms mutilated and hanging limp at his side, together he and Qui-Gon could take this. Obi-Wan could see the realization in Maul’s eyes. So Obi-Wan should have been prepared for what happened next.

The Sith raised a hand and the ceiling of the cavern began to shudder. Dust and debris rained down, then the largest section of rock broke free and plummeted toward Anakin.

“NO!”

Obi-Wan dropped the lightsaber, threw out his good arm, and shut his eyes, the Force singing like a tangible thing. _Size matters not_ , Master Yoda’s voice whispered in his mind. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan’s hand shook. He needed to save his apprentice. He needed to save his friend.

Qui-Gon had been distracted, heart lurching in mild panic for the unconscious Padawan. It was enough of a distraction for the Sith to make his escape. By the time Qui-Gon could react and chase him down, the Sith had already entered his ship. The gangplank raised, the thrusters fired, and the ship blasted up through the launch chute. Qui-Gon clenched his teeth around a swear — being around Tak and the Marauders had expanded his willingness to swear. He deactivated the lightsabers and shoved the casings into his sash. He raised his arms, the Force flowing through him, and together he and Obi-Wan gentled the large ceiling section away from Padawan Skywalker. The rock touched down, harmless and out of the way. The moment it did, Obi-Wan collapsed.

Qui-Gon caught him before Obi-Wan’s knees could slam into the ground. Then Qui-Gon sank to his haunches, the unconscious Obi-Wan supported against his chest. Padawan Skywalker’s arm laid curled against his thigh. Qui-Gon shut his eyes. He needed to think.

Republic troops found them that way a few moments later.

 


	10. " ... according to my design."

 

Utapau had been a … miscalculation. Obi-Wan had fallen into the trap without fail, but the arrival of the secondary fleet — more of a flotilla of ragtag cast offs — had been an unexpected upset. Maul bristled, wondering how the older Jedi Master had tracked them down. Tracked _him_. No doubts about that. If he could figure out how the Jedi Master accomplished it, then Maul could put an end to it.

Maul leaned back in his chair, the inky vastness of space laid out before him, and considered his options. He had to contact his Master — Sidious would not be pleased that Maul had failed in stopping Obi-Wan and his twit apprentice. More, the Alderaanian Prince and the Naboo Queen were still alive, regardless of Sidious’ intervention to have them executed on Geonosis. If the next stage of Lord Sidious’s plan were to succeed, Bail Organa had to be removed. The Prince was too popular and influential not to run for Chancellor. The election would be a landslide, and _not_ in Palpatine’s favor.

As for the Queen, she was a … curiosity. Being Force blind, her very presence shouldn’t have caused such a disturbance, but Sidious had seen a future where she was instrumental in destroying his plans. The revelation of her being a clone had ruined any chance of her running for Chancellor, but Lord Sidious still saw her in his visions. The Naboo Queen was a monarch without a planet, so nothing within her could be a threat to their goal. Regardless, her fate would be the same as the Prince’s.

Maul asked himself when it would happen. Geonosis had been an unexpected disaster, costing the Separatists a key munitions factory. The Battle of Nemoidia and the destruction of the clones’ barracks had been an unfortunate setback, too, but nothing they couldn’t recover from. Now, Maul only had himself to blame. His need to destroy Obi-Wan Kenobi, to bring him down and have him grovel for death, had been a miscalculation. But surrender wasn’t enough. Maul needed total subjugation. And then, only then, would he grant mercy and reshape Obi-Wan into the perfect apprentice and together they would bring down Sidious. It would be glorious.

He needed to course correct. Laying out the Jedi corpses to invite Obi-Wan to a final showdown on Kamino had been a delicious bit of planning — not to mention fun. Slaughtering Jedi would never not be fun, especially when their eyes widened, the pallor of dread cast over their face, the knowledge that certain death was imminent.

Hesitating no longer, Maul keyed in the encryption to Courscant. The screen came alive with a furious Palpatine. Without the hood, his features were in stark relief, the lined, papery thin skin covering a sagging face.

“Master,” Maul began.

Palpatine’s frown stretched his already withered face to an alarming exaggeration. If he could have killed Maul with his mind over vast distances, he may have. “Your incompetence may cost us everything.” Maul waited. His master hated to be interrupted. “They are still headed to Kamino.”

“Yes, my master. I will stop them.”

“I ordered you to stop them before and you failed in that.”

The words were a lash, the very one his master had used to correct unsavory behavior. Maul felt the fire ripple down his back.

Palpatine sat back with a sigh. “I will send a fleet to you. Head them off and if they make it to Kamino, be sure they never leave.”

Maul dipped his head. “Yes, my master.”

“Remember, Maul: The Jedi destroyed the Sith Empire once before. We must make sure they never do it again.”

Maul nodded, the litany rising unbidden. “At last we will have revenge.”

The screen flickered off.

* * *

Regardless of who survived and who was saved, Padmé fell into a stupor. Their Destroyer was one of three damaged, the last needed only minor repairs. Nevertheless, it meant transferring all crew from the damaged Destroyers to the _Sacrifice_ and setting the others to self-destruct. Padmé, Bail, and Master Billaba transferred over to the _Pierced Haul_ where Master Qui-Gon Jinn greeted them at the docking bay.

He looked nothing like Padmé remembered. Yes, his hair was the same length and his beard was just as full and his lightsaber hung against his hip, but he wore grimier clothing in clashing colors and he grinned more readily, welcoming and carefree. Nothing stoic about this Jedi.

In whirlwind of activity, Master Jinn and pirates took shuttles to the surface and Padmé, Bail, and Master Billaba were greeted by the pirate captain, Tak Rydel. Padmé remembered her from the evacuation of Naboo so many years ago.

Tak led them to the mess hall and regaled them with tales of their adventures, “from Yararie VI to the Tale’s End Nebula — we’ve been one hyperspace jump behind this bastard. He’s killed five Jedi, you know that?”

“Six,” Padmé said, thinking back on her conversations with Anakin. She hugged the robe to her chest.

Tak slowed her walking, pivoted and gave Padmé a pointed look. “Well, damn. We sent their remains and lightsabers back to the Jedi Council. Qui was hoping we could corner the Sith Lord here at Utapau. Here’s hoping.”

Expecting the pirate to leave them in the mess hall, Padmé jumped when Tak addressed her again: “Your Majesty, I have something you might be interested in.”

Padmé blinked, then traded a look with Bail, who quirked a brow. She read a shared curiosity, but also his own distrust of a stranger. Padmé couldn’t blame him, especially since he had never met the pirate before. Out the corner of her eye, Padmé watched Tak cast a glance between them, and then a grin flashed blinding white.

“Trust me, Princey.” Tak slapped Bail in the gut. The latter released his breath in an _oof_ and doubled over from the strike. By the time Bail straightened, Tak was already leading the way forward. “You’ll want to see this.”

Padmé smothered a smirk at Bail’s incredulous glare. She followed the pirate, with the Prince bringing up the rear.

Tak’s office had a cluttered look, though with a place for everything — an _organized_ cluttered look that a lesser person would not have been able to pull off. Padmé felt Bail tense at her side, but Padmé waited, willing to put her faith in Tak again. The pirate reached into a side drawer and drew out a battered helmet, the paint worn to a scuffed silver. Regardless, the remaining flecks of paint were a familiar red, and despite the warped shape, Padmé recognized it.

“A clone commando’s helmet.” Padmé shrugged, unable to summon any true interest. “There are thousands of them.”

Tak shook her head. “Not like this. Prior to the Battle of Nemoidia, clone commando helmets were a Z-XR21 design. Now, they’re a Z-XR24A design. This,” she tapped the helmet, the gleam in her eye manic, “is a Z-XR11. A model that hasn’t been in production for ten years.”

Padmé furrowed her brows, the deductions speeding along to an inevitable conclusion. She gasped, the implications too profound to be real. Bail must have come to the same conclusion because his whispered, “My word,” brushed over her ear, stunned and intrigued both.

“So,” Padmé began, her thoughts fitting together like an intricate puzzle, “what happened to that earlier generation? Where are those clones?” She stepped forward, shifting Anakin robe to one arm so she could reach for the helmet with a free hand. Tak surrendered it. The lightweight material surprised her, but it shouldn’t have. Who would purchase the best for cannon fodder? “And where did you find this?”

Tak waved a hand. “The friend of an enemy of a privateer. But look.” She took the helmet back, flipped it to show the interior, and then tapped a metal plate just inside. “Serial number. I ran it past my contacts. Apparently, this helmet was manufactured on a planet deep in Separatist space, that has no name — ”

Padmé interrupted, “And isn’t there.” Tak raised her brows, intrigued. Padmé gestured between herself and Bail. “We’re seeking the same planet.”

“Ah.” Tak set the helmet on the desk, then placed her hands on her hips. “Know where you’re headed?”

Padmé opened her mouth to respond, but the docking bay klaxons sounded. Without thinking, she hurried out, footsteps right behind her. Padmé stumbled to a halt. A flood of injured troops were carried in on stretchers, a few hobbled in supporting each other, many were carted in wrapped in body bags. A repeat of infinite repeats, Alderaan and here and every place the war touched. Behind her, Tak ordered her pirates to help, and Bail assisted as he always did, but Padmé felt numb. She clutched Anakin’s robe, the only stability in this … madness. She had never known war until Dooku attacked her planet, but she had never glamorized it, never imagined her heroics in the face of insurmountable odds. Had never had a personal stake in the outcome. Not only Naboo, but also the clones.

When the klaxon sounded again, Padmé held her breath. Qui-Gon exited the shuttle with Obi-Wan leaning into his side, arm limp, the sleeve of his tunic singed and shredded. Republic troops followed, carrying a litter. The broken pile of bones and cloth formed itself into Anakin, medpacks molded around his left arm. Padmé gasped.

Eyes dulled from pain, Obi-Wan, nevertheless, drew Qui-Gon to a stop and reached out with his good arm to touch Padmé’s hand. “He’ll live. He’ll live.”

The Republic troops carried Anakin’s litter past and Padmé followed. In the medsuite, the med droid fit Anakin with a med cuff, the stump of his arm settled on top of the thermals keeping him warm. Padmé unfolded Anakin’s robe and tucked it around him, careful of the arm. The med droid said he could be fitted for a prosthetic once he woke. Padmé sighed. Another part of himself lost to the war.

She found a chair and sat, hands between her knees. On the other side of the medsuite, a body floated in the bacta tank. Padmé swore under her breath. She had lost track of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and hadn’t even considered them until now. But Obi-Wan would survive. They would heal from this. The details of what had happened on Utapau would keep.

The bed shifted and Padmé jumped. Cloth rustled and she looked down to see Anakin’s blue eyes opened and watching her. “Oh.” His arm moved under the covers, flung them back and reached up to cup her face.

In one fluid motion, he drew her in, their lips slamming together, teeth colliding. In that fraction of a second, her heart skipped a beat. Everything that she had suspected was suddenly confirmed. He wanted this. He wanted _her_. And she wanted him. She wanted him so much. … The dam on her reticence broke. She drew him in with just as much fury.

Padmé pulled back, tears standing in her eyes. Anakin ignored the pain flaring in the left side of his chest and sat up. He wouldn’t look at his arm — not yet. He needed Padmé. She took the silent cue and climbed onto the bed, pressing her softness against him. He wrapped his arm around her and pressed his cheek against the top of her head, her silken hair falling like a cloak around them.

He loved her. And when the lightsaber sliced through his arm, when the pain crested and he passed out, he was terrified that he would never say it.

Sitting there, he heard her breathing slow. Anakin looked down and saw Padmé’s eyes closed in sleep. “I love you,” he whispered.

He wanted to protect her. To give everything he had. To stop this war so that they could love in peace. To do whatever the Republic refused to do to bring order to the galaxy. All for her. It would be all for her.

 


	11. "Obi-Wan has taught you well."

 

He tasted bacta on his breath. Every exhale had a medicinal perfume. If he refused to breathe, he could suffocate it all away, but then who would be there for his apprentice? Obi-Wan had already betrayed Anakin into a duel with Maul; his own self-sacrifice meaningless in the face of such brutality. The Sith Lord — Darth Maul — never wanted surrender. Such evil couldn’t be reasoned with and Obi-Wan had been a fool to believe so. Maul would continue to kill Jedi for sport.

Shaak Ti’s presence in the Force still haunted him. A pulse of life, strong, grounded, a rock where so many others were mere pebbles. But that rock was subject to the same transgresses as all others; time wound down and wore out and a rock would become a pebble, too. And then nothing. He knew her, he admired her, in his darkest moments he envied her, and the blade slicing through her had also sliced through him.

No. The only way to stop Maul was to kill him.

_Kill once and you will kill again_ , Master Yoda’s raspy voice echoed in his memory, one of Obi-Wan’s earliest lessons as a Padawan. A Jedi used the Force for knowledge and defense, and many died in the line of fire, but Obi-Wan had never intended harm on another. As such, this war had opened a wound among the Jedi. Death was a byproduct in their defense of the Republic, and in order to bring an end to the endless bloodshed, death would be again. And again. He had been prepared to die, but he had never wanted his apprentice — his _friend_ — or any other to come to harm. He had failed as a master and he had failed as a friend. He had failed as a Jedi.

Obi-Wan stood under the spray, the hot water running like a sluice down his back. He pressed his forehead against the tiles, rivulets dripping off the ends of his hair and running into his eyes. He blinked, choosing not to think.

His Jedi tunic and trousers were singed, the arm dangling in frayed scraps. Obi-Wan’s muscles clenched from the remembered pain, but he put it out of his mind. He had a debriefing to get to. But first …

Dried, dressed, Obi-Wan found his way to the isolation unit. Tak _would_ keep a fully stocked medsuite, complete with med droid, what with the hazard of pirating and all. Padmé sat at the bedside, awake and alert. Anakin laid under the thermals tucked up to his chin, his skin ashen. His robe had been spread over him, no doubt Padmé’s doing. Obi-Wan allowed himself a moment to take stock of Anakin’s presence in the Force: fractured. Lost, but clinging to certainty. What certainty, Obi-Wan could only guess. His gaze landed on the stump of an arm fitted with a med cuff. The amputation had occurred on the same side as the prosthetic leg. The mechanization of living tissue. Another limb lost and Anakin would be more machine than man.

Footsteps echoed behind him. Obi-Wan turned to see Bail approach, the Prince’s shoulders squared, his back straight. Affectation, of course, because d istress pulled Bail’s features, lines worried his brow, a tightness firmed his mouth. He reached into the fold of his tunic and withdrew a folded brown material — Obi-Wan’s robe. Obi-Wan shrugged into it, feeling, not whole, but more at ease.

He had to check in with Master Koth and Master Billaba and Master Jinn. He had to report to the Jedi Council that the Sith Lord had escaped. He had to request further orders. With Anakin injured, he could not drag his apprentice into another fire fight. Anakin would need to heal. They couldn’t be in a warzone.

Obi-Wan left, Bail matching his steps. The Prince’s thoughts were nearly tangible things, the very air seeming to pulse with them. At last, he spoke, “I was thinking about what you and Padawan Skywalker said — about the traitor.”

Obi-Wan’s brows jumped. “What about it?”

“Senator Palpatine serves as one of Chancellor Valorum’s advisers — Palpatine is also Naboo’s Senator.” Thoroughly shocked, Obi-Wan rounded on Bail. The latter nodded. “He stepped in after the cloning secret was exposed. Anyway, with the anomaly in the star charts and the trap set at Utapau, we need to be more proactive.”

Obi-Wan nodded. The disaster on Utapau should never have been. Fully embracing the fact that there was a traitor buried deep within the Republic, Obi-Wan gestured for Bail to follow. The Force pulsed, guiding him toward the three signatures deep in meditation on the far side of the ship. Blast doors parted. The conference table in the office had been moved to one side, the chairs piled on top of it, all to give more room to the three Jedi Masters kneeling in meditation. Master Billaba, Master Koth, and Master Jinn faced one another, eyes closed. Their calming presences in the Force eased the tension in Obi-Wan’s shoulders. Tension he hadn’t realized he had been carrying. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he meditated.

The Masters opened their eyes one at a time, awareness sharpening their features. Master Billaba’s serenity, Master Koth’s fire, and Master Jinn’s strength. Obi-Wan wondered what they saw when they looked at him. He cleared his throat. “The Prince has an idea.”

In minutes, dual, life-size holograms appeared in the room, the static blue forms of Senator Palpatine and Master Windu. “Forgive Master Ki-Adi-Mundi,” the Jedi Master said. “He was called away to aid the Wookies.”

Bail took point. “Masters, Senator. There’s a traitor in the Republic. Utapau proved it.”

Palpatine’s sighed, resigned, and Master Windu nodded, his lips flat. “I fear I agree with you,” the Senator said. “But how can we prove such a thing?”

Bail took up a slow pacing, his speech as measured as his footsteps. “How to flush them out, you mean? If our intelligence is being undermined, then our tactical advantages are useless. So our traitor is someone at the highest levels of the Republic.  We’d need to choose a logistical position.” Bail stopped, spun in place to face the holograms, and set his jaw. “Someplace that would strike a blow  _against_ the Republic.”

“Your Highness,” Senator Palpatine said, the blue lines of his expression tightening with worry. “What you’re proposing borders on treason. I agree we need to find any potential traitor, but how far are we willing to go to do it?”

Master Windu raised a hand. “Senator.” Palpatine’s hologram turned to face the Jedi Master. “The Prince is right. We need to offer a banquet, something our enemy can’t pass up.” He fell silent, his gaze drifting off to one side. “There’s a shipyard, H6487 in the Karnae Quadrant. It’s a short lightspeed jump from Utapau. We can evacuate the personnel — no lives lost.”

“Only ships,” Palpatine said.

Master Windu developed a dark look in his eye, potent enough to breach the blue of the hologram. A ripple passed through the room, the Jedi and Bail standing straighter. When he spoke, a harshness edged Master Windu’s words, the kind of tone reserved only for disobedient Padawans. Obi-Wan winced, having been on the receiving end of that tone before. “Spread the word to the Intelligence Committee, Senator — our traitor would be in the thick of things. The future of the Republic depends on it.”

Senator Palpatine drew himself up, his chin tipped back, a way to look down his nose at anyone. “Very well. I will inform Chancellor Valorum first.” Palpatine’s hologram fizzled out.

Master Windu faced forward, his blue-filtered gaze softening. “Master Billaba. Master Koth. Lead the evacuation. And destroy all ships. If the tactic to infiltrate Republic space is true, then we need to cut the Separatists off at the pass.”

“Tak and the Marauders can help,” Qui-Gon said.

Master Windu nodded. “Master Kenobi.” Obi-Wan rounded his shoulder, prepared to interrupt, but Master Windu barreled on, “You and Padawan Skywalker will assist.” The blue hologram fizzled at the edges, ready to switch off.

“Master!” Obi-Wan heard his voice ring out, the farthest corners of the chamber rang with it. Windu’s hologram whipped back around, brows drawn up to his hairless hairline. Obi-Wan swallowed — it wouldn’t do to choke. “Anakin is hurt. He needs to rest. Going after the Sith almost killed him and … we need to be away from the frontlines.”

The blue hologram blinked, compassion stealing over his features. “I see. Then Padawan Skywalker is pardoned from the investigation. Send him back to Coruscant. Master Kenobi, assist Masters Billaba and Koth.” The hologram snapped out of existence, Obi-Wan’s words silenced along with it.

_That wasn’t what I requested_ , he was going to say.  _I need to be with my Padawan. I need to be away from this._ He stared at the middle distance, something close to despair peeling away his courage.  _You need to help me._

A hand landed on his shoulder. Obi-Wan whirled to see Qui-Gon, his piercing blue eyes steady, as though attempting to see through the veneer Obi-Wan had to maintain. The other Masters were exiting the room, Bail trailing after. Obi-Wan shrugged off Qui-Gon’s hand, but the larger Jedi Master side-stepped and blocked Obi-Wan’s way.

Clenching his teeth around a sigh, Obi-Wan thrust his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. “Yes, Master Jinn?”

Instead of calling Obi-Wan out on what he tried to keep secret from himself, or discussing strategies, Qui-Gon said something completely unexpected: “See to your Padawan. We can discuss it later.”

He whirled and swept out of the room, leaving Obi-Wan to stare after him, nonplussed. Surely, with such build up, Qui-Gon wouldn’t assume otherwise. Of course Obi-Wan was going to deliver the news to Anakin. Where else would he go? It would be hard for the young man for them to be split up, but it was for the best. Anakin needed time to heal and Obi-Wan would give it to him. He shook his head, then left for the medsuite.

When he arrived, the Force rippled like a living thing. Anakin flexed his new hand, the spindly gold fingers whirring with each adjustment. He called a laser scalpel to his mechanical hand. Padmé turned to watch it float through the air, and then land back on the table. At last, Anakin turned.

Obi-Wan watched him hop down from the gurney and close the distance, one half of his body mechanize, the other half organic. The contrast brought tears to his eyes, but Obi-Wan blinked them away. This was about Anakin now. He opened his mouth, prepared to apologize, but Anakin drew him into a tight embrace, the good arm wrapped around Obi-Wan’s back. Speechless, Obi-Wan raised his arms, returning it.

When Anakin pulled back, his expression crumpled as though he were holding back a explosion of emotions. “Don’t go running off, okay?”

Obi-Wan nodded and the tears fell. Anakin was a good friend.

 


	12. "Bury your feelings deep down ... "

 

Tak made a shipwide announcement carried by every ship in their flotilla, new course laid to shipyard H6487 in the Karnae Quadrant. With the addition of the Star Destroyer _Sacrifice_ , the Marauders were no longer Republican pirates, but legitimate privateers. What that would make them after the war, Obi-Wan couldn’t say.

Padmé excused herself with the promise to meet them in the mess hall, and when Obi-Wan delivered Master Windu’s orders, Anakin balled his hand into a fist, the servos _whir_ ring in response. “I’m not going.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, unwilling to descend into a back and forth. Second-year initiates knew to take orders. “Anakin, you need to heal.” He’d try reason. Master Yoda always used reason when Obi-Wan had been headstrong; therefore, most of the time. “Take some time away from the frontlines. The war will still be here when you get back.”

Anakin’s blue eyes flashed. “That’s the problem.” He pivoted, crossed to the closet and shrugged out his medical robe. The mechanized _whir_ of the servos filled the silence. As Anakin pulled out his Jedi tunic, the area where metal had been grafted onto flesh caught the light, and Obi-Wan controlled his flinch. Red, puffy, with blue striations bleeding into the golden rods. When Anakin slipped on his Jedi tunic, Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief. “This war needs every Jedi to fight. We’re the only ones who can end it.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t argue with that, but … “You're untested.” Anakin whirled, frozen in the act of tying his sash, but Obi-Wan continued before he could be cut off. “Like your leg, your hand needs time to acclimate to … to holding a lightsaber, piloting a starship, manipulating tiny objects.”

Servos whined with the urgency of a child’s wail. The sleeve hid the majority of the metal arm. Then Anakin reached into a closet and pulled out a black glove. He fit it onto the golden rods, slipped the ends under his sleeve, and aside from the places where the glove noticeably drooped, the only thing anyone would notice was the lack of a glove on the other hand. Anakin placed his hands on his hips, his gaze steady and defiant. “I’m a fast learner. You know that.”

Obi-Wan curbed his smirk. That wasn’t the point. “I worry about you, is all. You’re my Padawan. And my friend.”

Anakin ducked his head, then dropped his arms. He grabbed his robe off the bed and slipped it on. Only the faint sound of the servos would alert anyone to something mechanical. If Anakin could bind the arm in a specially made glove, no one would ever hear it. The layers of trousers and boot were the only reasons Obi-Wan didn’t hear Anakin’s leg. Robed, suited, and squaring his shoulders, Anakin looked like a Jedi Padawan ready to face the Council. “You said it. As your friend, I’m not leaving.”

Anakin closed the distance, clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder, then swept out and down the corridor. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, then turned on a heel and followed.

Of course, Anakin’s destination was the mess hall, where he grabbed a bowl of soup, found Padmé in the corner, and joined her. Instantly, Anakin’s face lit up, his smile threatening to wear a permanent dimple in his cheeks. Anakin looked happy. Obi-Wan couldn’t fault him for that.

The soup was bland, but filling, and the mess hall had only a fraction of the tables filled. With Obi-Wan bent over his soup and thinking about the next stage of Anakin’s training, a shadow fell over his table. He had sensed the familiar presence approach, but he didn’t have time for word games or cryptic messages. Nevertheless, the roguish Jedi Master swung his large body into the opposite seat and hooked the instep of his boot on the edge of the table, leaning back until the chair gave an audible groan. Sharp blue eyes assessed Obi-Wan. Not only scrutiny in that gaze, but … judgment. Obi-Wan considered bristling. His younger self would have. _Brash, arrogant me._ But he was a Jedi, so he gathered his patience, dropped his head, and resumed eating.

The soup level reached the bottom and Obi-Wan had nothing left to distract himself. Stupid to think it — to need distractions. Perhaps the constant strife was playing with his mind, creating a hyper-reactive world where he didn’t know what to do with himself the moment he had downtime? Either way …

When it looked like Qui-Gon wouldn’t make the first curtsey, Obi-Wan dropped the spoon into the bowl with a plastic _thunk_ and met the stare head on, his own lack of aplomb registering in the back of his mind. His younger self would be howling. “Something to get off your chest?”

Qui-Gon’s brows jumped, but he dropped his leg to lean forward, wide hands flat on the table’s surface. “I’ll put in a request to have Padawan Skywalker transferred to my tutelage.”

Obi-Wan reeled, the words heavy like a backhanded slap. “What?”

Qui-Gon’s blue gaze did not waver. “It is obvious to me this war is wearing on you, Obi-Wan, and I’m not surprised. You weren’t a Knight long before you were a Master. Padawan Skywalker is strong in the Force and his talents should not be squandered. The Jedi Council will agree with me.”

Obi-Wan felt his mouth gaping like a beached fish. If he had been expecting anything, it wasn’t _that_. “What gives you the right to take my Padawan from me?”

Qui-Gon tipped his head to a spot just over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Your apprentice is in love.”

Unable to do more than obey, Obi-Wan turned. Anakin and Padmé were dining together, heads close, whispered conversation. Obi-Wan blinked, but that was normal. Anakin and Padmé had made a quick friendship and their closeness was residual because of the war. It didn’t have to mean anything. As though reading his mind, Qui-Gon said,

“It means everything. Attachment is forbidden.” One of the tenets of the Jedi Code. “Passion is forbidden. And there is much anger in him.”

Obi-Wan returned his attention to the Jedi Master, his own anger simmering under the surface, building on the concussive blast from that opening salvo. “None of us are much different.”

Qui-Gon sat back, gaze narrowed. “That’s your excuse?”

Obi-Wan sighed, the emotion flowing out of him as quickly as it came. He waved a hand, suddenly tired. “We’re in a war — in case you haven’t noticed. Let him find some happiness.”

Qui-Gon’s brows canted in query. “What will happen when he can’t have what he desires?”

“What do you mean?”

“What will happen when all of this is over? When Anakin is reminded of his vow to the Jedi Order, will he give her up? Where will all that anger go?”

Obi-Wan blinked, the words like a laser blast excoriating the hull of his mind. Was he … failing his apprentice — so wrapped up in his own disaster he had been failing his duties? Part of him wanted to deny the accusations outright, to run and keep running until his legs gave out on him. But that wouldn’t be very Jedi. Granted, Qui-Gon’s lack of tact had put Obi-Wan on the defensive, yet, Obi-Wan’s lack of introspection would have reinforced it.

Obi-Wan tugged on the end of his beard, his frustration mounting. He needed to meditate, he needed to concentrate, he needed to release his emotions into the Force. He needed …

When he could register the man in front of him, Qui-Gon had a cast to his blue eyes, concern wrapped in alarm. “Master Kenobi, come with me.”

The large body swung up with a grace unwonted in his age. Obi-Wan watched the wide back retreat, a presence in the Force whole and stable. Then he followed.

They entered an empty conference room, the long table in the center scratched and dented. The blast doors closed, and all at once, the deluge washed over him. Obi-Wan gripped the edge of the table, the square lip biting into his palm, a pain that flared and distracted him — a blessed relief. Anger snapped and clawed at the edges of his being, the most forbidden of emotions. Breathing and releasing into the Force eluded him. How could he call himself a Jedi if his earliest lesson eluded him? Master Yoda would be ashamed.

The table’s surface wavered, the worn metallic dulled to a pasty sheen. Obi-Wan blinked, then gasped, the tears landing with a _splat_. Cloth rustled and a large hand landed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“Find it. What is the source of your anger?”

The voice made him obey. Not Force-touched, but just enough of a suggestion not to be ignored. The recycled air eddied in his nostrils, the stale quality a lingering odor found just under the surface. An old filter system, too, the layers revealing themselves as he inhaled. Cooking fumes, fuel stench, body sweat. Obi-Wan shut his eyes and allowed his lungs to expand.

The anger had a source … and he found it.

Obi-Wan exhaled, his shoulders loosening, his spine straightening. He opened his eyes and pushed himself away from the table. The wetness at his eyes trembled in his vision, the room twitching in response. He allowed them to fall, the warm tracks running into his beard. At last, he turned to face Qui-Gon, the Jedi Master’s blue eyes steady and calm.

Obi-Wan released his emotions into the Force. His confession needed to be free of turmoil. “I wanted to kill him.”

Qui-Gon blinked, his aquiline features pinching in surprise. The Jedi Master opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Obi-Wan stepped away, the space giving him clarity.

“I know, I know. It’s a mortal sin for a Jedi to kill not in defense.” He paced to the opposite side of the room, the bulkhead decorated in blaster burns. Then he turned, unsurprised to see that Qui-Gon hadn’t moved. “When that beast attacked my Padawan, I couldn’t think. I only wanted him dead. I envisioned him impaled on my lightsaber … ” Obi-Wan looked down at his hands clasped in front of him, the fingers straining the way he would hold his lightsaber. “ … and I welcomed it.”

Qui-Gon lowered his gaze, the blue eyes hidden behind heavy lids. In the heartbeats that followed, Obi-Wan watched the Jedi Master hold to his serenity, his face unreadable. When Qui-Gon spoke, he addressed the ground. “Your apprentice had a similar slip. He couldn’t bear seeing you in pain and reacted poorly. His recklessness led to his injury.”

Obi-Wan blinked, his first time hearing that. Another place where he had failed.

Then Qui-Gon dropped a bomb shell: “Shaak Ti volunteered to be captured.”

Every nerve, from the roots of his hair to his fingertips, sparked to life. His hard-won peace unraveled like a poorly spun robe. “What?”

The elder Jedi Master maintained his composure, but with such a damning revelation, Obi-Wan had expected remorse. Something. “It was the only way to track the Sith. He would have kept killing otherwise.”

“He kept killing.” Obi-Wan stalked forward, hands clenched at his sides. Qui-Gon remained unmoved and that made everything so much worse. _Feel something, damn it!_ “Shaak Ti gave her life and he’s still out there and more Jedi will die. Was it worth it?” Unaware of how it happened, he ensnared Qui-Gon’ s tunic in trembling fists, and then shoved the larger Jedi into the bulkhead. Obi-Wan bared his teeth in a snarl, his emotions boiling over. “Was it worth it?!”

“Master Kenobi, calm yourself.” When Qui-Gon’s back smacked into the bulkhead, the shock registered as an afterthought. It was a rare thing for just anyone to toss Qui-Gon Jinn around, but for it to be another Jedi — that set off every alarm. Jedi were not like this. “I understand.”

Blue-green eyes blinked, taken aback. The turmoil in them gave way to confusion. “Do you?”

“Yes.” Qui-Gon uncurled the fingers from around his tunic, his bigger hands dwarfing Obi-Wan’s. When he could step away from the bulkhead, he placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, then eased the younger Jedi into a chair. Qui-Gon took the adjacent seat and measured the expression on Obi-Wan’s face. Detachment. Horror. Contempt — all directed inward. Qui-Gon mulled over his next words before speaking. “It’s said, one Jedi dies every hour of this war.”

“Like Shaak Ti.”

The voice was a hollow echo of its former intonation. Qui-Gon shook his head, saddened that the war was taking another Jedi as he watched. “Shaak Ti knew the dangers, and she was willing to give her life for the greater good. If we capture the Sith, we can use him as leverage to find Count Dooku, but we need all the Jedi.” He eyed the hunched shoulders and drooping neck, exhaustion written in every bone. But when Obi-Wan looked up, his blue-green eyes flashed with a spark of life. Unbent, unbowed, unbroken. Qui-Gon allowed himself a small smile. “Are you with us?”

Before Obi-Wan could speak, Tak’s voice came over the comm: “Qui, we’ve reached H6487. Come to the bridge. You need to see this.”

In all the turmoil, he hadn’t noticed when the _Pierced Haul_ had dropped out of hyperspace, the sublight engines purring under foot. Qui-Gon gestured for Obi-Wan to proceed him and they exited the conference room. In all the time they had spent together, Tak never sounded worried. Out of her depth, playing it by ear, and furious as all got out, but not worried.

Bodies crowded the starboard side viewport, three deep, every person silent and still. The tallest among them, Qui-Gon could only see snatches of light out the viewport. He pressed his way to the front, the rustle of Obi-Wan’s robes close behind.

What he saw made his breath catch.

Republic shipyard H6487 burned. Oxygen in the life support systems fueled the flames, bright red against a black backdrop. The crowd at the viewport, a line of flat faces and blank stares, watched the warped and twisted metal burn.

 


	13. " ... the best starpilot in the galaxy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with this and for being so patient. I had three flareups in December 2017 and my neurologist has not gotten back to me about that. I'm weighing my options about what to do next.

 

The trick to designing a multi-layered plan was to embrace the flaws. He could foresee the complications and plot around them, but for the incidents he could not anticipate, he had to take advantage of the opportunities they provided. As a matter of providence, the capture of the Alderaanian Prince and the Naboo Queen had opened the door to their demise. Palpatine had originally planned to take them out at a different time, but who was he to argue with fortune? Unfortunately, the Prince and the Queen had escaped, so … Palpatine would embrace the flaws and adjust.

To adjust, of course, meant turning the war to his advantage sooner than expected. Originally, he had planned for Valorum to suffer defeat after defeat, and when the Republic was brought to its knees, Palpatine would call for a vote of no confidence and run for Chancellor himself. Of course, the only way to win would be to sabotage the competition. According to the original plan, when the popular and upstanding Prince Bail Organa suffered a tragic accident, it would open the way to Palpatine’s “narrow” victory over the lesser nominees. It had to look like a competition, after all.

Now, with the setback at Nemoidia and the sloppy erasure of Kamino from the star charts, Palpatine needed to adjust. The Republic’s triumphs at Nemoidia, Geonosis, and Utapau whet public support, but Palpatine had to play that support like a finely tuned instrument. A push too far in either direction and everything could crumble. Embracing the flaws required snatching up short-term goals for long-term gains. As such, the imminent hammer fall on Kamino — truly, the Republic would be fools not to take advantage of such a strategic opportunity — meant orchestrating a reversal in Palpatine’s favor. Chancellor Valorum could not have a decisive victory; Palpatine had to devise an unforgivable onslaught on the one place the Senate considered sacrosanct. In that regard, shipyard H6487 had been a glorious opportunity: A fleet of Republic Star Destroyers in the possession of General Grevious were already on their way to Orbital Defense.

The Jedi would never suspect. That fool Windu was so distracted with their war, he couldn’t even sense a Sith Lord residing on the same planet. The Jedi were pawns in their own demise, and Palpatine allowed himself a thin smile. No one would truly appreciate the sprawling machinations that would fundamentally restructure the galaxy. This war would bring about the restoration of the Sith Empire and the destruction of the Jedi.

The Dark Side stirred.

With the security cameras already looped, Palpatine tucked the bottle into Valorum’s hand and closed the fingers around it. The body slumped over the desk awarded him a moment of satisfaction. Valorum’s eyes were open, bulging in terror, but that could be explained away during the inquest. And the digital trails dumped into the Chancellor’s console would be just enough evidence to destroy Valorum’s reputation.

In a sweep of senatorial robes, Palpatine stepped out of the office and didn’t look back, the door sliding shut behind him. 

* * *

 Anakin leaned into the corner, the bulkhead on either side propping up his shoulders. Thumbs in his belt, he scanned those gathered, vainly trying to ignore the creepy, phantom tingling in his missing limb. It had taken months before his leg no longer felt like an attachment. The same would apply to his arm.

He caught Padmé’s eye over Tak’s head, their distance across the room a strategic placement to diffuse any speculation as to their closeness. Sharing a lunch was one thing, sitting with a friend in the medsuite was another, but if the Jedi Masters here figured out Anakin and Padmé’s relationship, who knew what would happen? He loved her, and he’d fight the whole Council if they tried to separate them.

Obi-Wan leaned against the bulkhead, arms wrapped around his torso, chin tucked close to his chest. Shadows obscured the strong profile, but when Obi-Wan turned to Anakin, the light struck his eyes and made them shine. He looked less worn, like the Obi-Wan Anakin had first met … not that long ago. “Padawan, I haven’t been fair to you.”

Anakin blinked, stunned. And bemused. “What do you mean?”

“This war is not ideal.” A pause, then a shrug. “And who said it should be? But I promise to instruct you well. As good if not better than Master Yoda.”

Anakin nodded, touched, though he didn’t need a promise from such a devoted friend.

The murmur in the office ended the moment Bail arrived, at last. They were all gathered to discuss their next strategy, Anakin, Obi-Wan, Padmé, Tak, Masters Jinn, Billaba, and Koth. Tak looked ready to snipe about it, but the vacant look in Bail’s eyes, his lips flattened into a tight line, signaled that something was amiss. The Prince wandered close to the table, but ignored the empty chair, his fingertips drifting against the table’s edge. Eventually, Padmé touched his arm. “Bail?”

He started, blinked, then cleared his throat. “I just contacted Senator Palpatine to tell him what happened at the shipyard. He said Chancellor Valorum was found dead in his office.” Several people gasped, Padmé included. “The Senate Guards found poison at the scene. Suicide. Mas Amedda is acting-Chancellor until elections.” Then he tapped the keys until the star charts appeared. The picture enhanced a familiar region until the empty quadrant filled the table top. “Cyphers found his encoded communications. A Separatist fleet has been deployed around our mystery planet. A nasty surprise when we came across it.”

Anakin felt the wind punched out of him. “So it was Valorum the whole time.” He held back a pleased smirk, the depths of his heart thrumming with dark satisfaction. “Senator Palpatine said he would alert the Chancellor of our plan.”

“Our mole buried deep in the Republic,” Obi-Wan said, his lips twisting in distaste.

“And because the fleet is surrounding the planet,” Padmé said as she sat forward and placed her fingers on the edge of the table, “it has to mean that whatever is _there_ is worth protecting.”

Qui-Gon made an agreeing _hmm_. “So how to get down to the surface?”

Tak’s nail tapped the underside of the table top in a contemplative gesture, a metallic _click_ too dull to fill the space. “The Marauders can’t take on a fleet alone.”

Anakin stepped forward, shrank the chart until their current location filled the tabletop. He pointed to the cluster next to theirs. “Who do we have deployed here?”

“Admiral Artap,” Master Billaba said. “She has already secured the Yarmar System and has been holding the line until General Namos can secure Dylo.”

“How many ships can she spare?”

Tak sat forward. “Calling in reinforcements? There’s still no chance we can win the ambush.”

Anakin held up a gloved finger, the plan forming out of whole possibilities. “The ambush is our diversion.” Tapping a series of keys brought up a schematic, and subsequent strikes introduced a circle and squares deployed around it, all white lines against a black background. As Anakin spoke, he moved new squares into tactical positions to illustrate his points. “The Marauders engage the Separatist blockade. If what Senator Palpatine found was accurate, the ambush will occur the moment we approach the planet, so we have the element of surprise on our side.” Another set of squares appeared on the opposite side of the planet. “Which means our Republic reinforcements will flank the blockade at the exact same time and we take them on two fronts.

“While that’s happening, _we —_ ” A sweep of his hand encompassed those intended. “ —take a shuttle through the chaos and break atmo.”

“And if there’s more ordnance on the surface,” Master Koth said, “what then?”

Anakin dipped his head to one side, allowing it. “We’ll deal with it when we get there.” He let his hands drop, the schematic an impression of his best plan, but also their potential failure.

“You said, ‘ _we_ ’.” Anakin turned, catching Padmé’s eye and seeing the steel there. She had her sweetness, but also a fire. “Who gets to go?”

“I should represent the Republic,” Bail said. He glanced at the Jedi, and Anakin cut a look across, seeing blank expressions. The Prince raised his hand in a placating gesture. “Forgive me, but the Jedi are no longer the ambassadors they used to be.”

No argument. No comment.

Padmé’s voice cut through the silence. “Tak showed me a clone commando helmet that was manufactured on the missing planet. If this has to do with clones, I need to be there.”

“And I’m the pilot.” Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, the latter cutting a look across before nodding. “Tak, have a shuttle we can borrow?”

Preparations moved fast after that. Master Koth contacted Admiral Artap and secured three Star Destroyers led by a commodore with a familiar face. “Captain!” Padmé moved into viewing range. On the screen, Captain Panaka’s face broke into a wide grin. “Your Majesty.” He wore the gray uniform of a Republic officer, but the bars on his breast had two tabs more than a captain.

“Or should I say, Commodore,” Padmé said, her smile making her eyes sparkle.

Now, Panaka’s grin vanished. “Why aren’t you on Alderaan? Where is the Prince? How — ?” His gaze shifted until it landed on the Jedi near the back. “Why aren’t you protecting Her Majesty?”

Obi-Wan stepped forward, his hands raised. “No offense, but we’re done trying to argue with her.”

Padmé whirled, shoulder square, dignity injured, and Anakin bit his lip not to bust out laughing.

Master Billaba took command of the Star Destroyer _Sacrifice_ and Master Koth accompanied her with the intention to lead a starfighter squadron in the coming battle. Commodore Panaka arranged his arrival for maximize surprise, and Anakin, Obi-Wan, Padmé, and Bail boarded their _Tenor_ -class shuttle, a flat fuselage with lateral windows and an engine in each wing.

“X-4!” Padmé rushed past in a rustle of cloth and knelt at the astromech’s side, her smile a burst of light in so much darkness. X-4 211 warbled recognition and rocked in place. If the red and gold droid hadn’t been plugged into the ship’s console, Anakin bet it would have wheeled around Padmé while whistling in glee. He thought it silly to get sentimental over a droid, but X-4 belonged to the planet Padmé was fighting for, and if it made her happy, he was happy.

Anakin strapped himself into the pilot’s chair, Obi-Wan in the co-pilot’s seat with Padmé and Bail as passengers. X-4 had already warmed the shuttle, so Anakin only had to seal the gangplank, engage the engines, and guide the shuttle out of the docking bay. As seen through the viewport, the mishmash Marauders fleet pointed their noses in one direction and blinked into hyperspace. The mangled wreck of H6487 drifted low in the viewport, the faint light of a distant star catching the blackened metal.

Anakin had once traveled to the arctic region of Tatooine to watch the glaciers in spring. The spectacle of the edifices shattering into the sand would be a memory long treasured. So concentrated with minerals, no one could drink the water, but the ice refracted the sunslight in stunning sparkles with a mud pit growing around it. Waiting for the breaks was the longest part, the spectators silent, rapt, the moment threatening to go as soon as it began — too afraid to blink or one might miss it. But the waiting, feeling the moisture dampen his cheeks, the tips of his fingers itching to run through the mud, the air sharp and slick in his lungs — that moment of anticipation, of sitting on the razor’s edge of action, echoed across time to center in this cabin, the four passengers silent, rapt, the tension pulled taut. Any more taut and it would break.

“Someone tell a joke.”

Anakin whirled around in his seat. Obi-Wan, too. Padmé’s face came into profile, and Bail cast them all a look, then spread his hands. “What? Am I wrong?”

Obi-Wan laughed, his smile dimpling his cheeks. Anakin huffed, turning back to the console with a fond eye roll, and Padmé giggled. The tension in the cabin eased with a near tangible release.

No time like now. With a tap to the controls, Anakin guided their shuttle into hyperspace. The blue and white swirls filled the viewport, startling in how mundane it was. They didn’t have far to travel, and Anakin engaged the sublight engines on instinct and the blue and white streaks of hyperspace coalesced into stars. A gray-blue planet hung heavy against the blackness of space. Explosions popped in arrhythmic bursts. Anakin flew them near, the battle forming into the mishmash of Marauders’ ships on one side and the Republic Star Destroyers flanking the Separatist capital ships in between. Red and green and blue turbolasers crisscrossed the distance between their shuttle to the planet. There was nothing to it; Anakin flew their shuttle into the melee.

MagnaGuard fighters swept past and engaged a squad of Republic V-wings, starfighters on both sides bursting into red-orange flames. Anakin took them past a Separatist _Providence_ -class dreadnought. It unleashed a ripple of red turbolaser fire on a Republic Star Destroyer, cutting into the hull and burning through the red detail. A missile slammed into the Separatist dreadnought from the opposite side, the explosion splitting the ship in half. Anakin maneuvered their shuttle between the two halves, the fires of the explosion whipping around the viewport.

The planet loomed close. Two torpedoes streaked past and slammed into a Marauder carrier. The explosion flashed a brilliant white, Obi-Wan and Bail throwing up a hand to shield their eyes. Anakin pivoted the shuttle to avoid a red turbolaser aimed at the Star Destroyer overhead, then rolled into a dip to breeze past a formation of sleek _Vulture_ -class fighters as they unleashed green lasers on Republic V-wings. An oblong _Lucrehulk_ -class capital ship drifted into their path and Anakin traded a grin with Obi-Wan, this almost being too easy. He guided their shuttle around it.

Clear of the battle, the line of the atmosphere provided a welcoming relief. “Whoa!” Anakin tugged the controls, then the sensors blared. The shuttle dipped left. A diamond-shaped mine sailed overhead. Another mine scraped the lateral viewport and another knocked into the starboard wing before spinning out of place.

Out in the exosphere, the mine twirled in a quick spin. It collided into its partner and the impact set off a chain reaction. The explosions rippled in waves like a blanket made of fire. The concussion wave compacted upon itself, gaining strength and speed.

Obi-Wan checked the sensor array. The heat signature erupting behind them made his eyes bulge out of their sockets. “Anakin, faster.”

Anakin called on the Force to guide them through it. The mines were placed so close together and stacked seemingly without end that it reminded him of the breakneck curves of Beggar’s Canyon, especially Laguna Caves when he raced in the dark. Only now he kept his eyes open. The mines swept past, but he could go no faster without risking a faulty turn. They had just reached the end of the minefield when the fire and pressure slammed into their shuttle and threw it off course.

The controls jerked out of Anakin’s hands. A few people cried out, the shuttle lurching and spinning as it broke atmo.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take the opening sequence of Lucas' Revenge of the Sith and that's the space battle here. This leaves the question: What will be the space battle in the opening of TRP: Episode III? Trust me. I have some ideas. :)


	14. "That's what I'm afraid of."

 

Padmé gripped the seat, the cushion threatening to ripping in two. Her stomach flipped with every lurch, the shuttle spinning as it plummeted, the vertigo sending her heart into her throat. She struggled not to panic, her trust in Anakin’s flying abilities absolute.

Said pilot fought with the controls, straining against them with all his might. “Come on,” Padmé heard, desperate pleading bleeding into his voice, “come on.” Suddenly, rain lashed against the viewport, the light shifting from exospheric transition to storm gray. Wisps of clouds billowed around them, and then they were plunging towards the churning waves of an ocean below.

Anakin wrenched the controls  _into_ the spin. The shuttle righted itself, the disorienting tumble easing into a sideways pitch. They were still falling with enough speed to press Padmé into her harness, though, but Anakin pulled back on the controls with a guttural cry and the shuttle arced upwards, the waves parting in a wake. Padmé shut her eyes and released a relived sigh.

“All too easy,” Anakin said. He sent a glance over his shoulder, too quick for anyone to make anything of it, and Padmé flashed a quick smile, merely a passenger thankful to her pilot. She traded a look with Obi-Wan, relief flashing in his blue-green eyes, then with Bail, who was gray around the lips. The shuttle evened out into a level flight path and slowed to sublight speeds.

Padmé turned to the comm panels. The storms obscured their sensors, the electrical output interfering with communications and scrambling any signal. Fog and rain slammed into the viewport, the rumble of thunder rattled the transparisteel. Waves churned, and after Anakin’s impressive display getting them through the space mines, Padmé didn’t worry about him coasting too low and having them swamped by a wave. She worried that her third time trying to hail a local outpost returned only static.

“Anything?” Obi-Wan asked.

Padmé shook her head, fearing that this had all been for naught. Suddenly, Bail pointed out the lateral viewport. “There. Look.”

The excitement in his tone compelled her to slide off her harness and join him. Obi-Wan spun around in his chair. The most magnificent image greeted her view. A white beast burst out of the water, wide wings flapping, its tail snaking through the air. The rider, a pale figure who didn’t look like it could feasibly remain astride such a beast, tugged the reins and the flying aiwha pivoted toward them. It pulled alongside, maintaining speed. Then, with another tug on the reins, the rider and beast peeled off and headed toward the horizon.

Padmé said, “Anakin, follow them.”

“At your command, my lady.”

The ship banked, pushing her into Bail, and then the waters sailed by, their speed accelerating to catch up to the beast. In minutes, the fog darkened to outline a gray dome-shape on stilts over the water. The beast peeled off, and then plunged into the surf, only a faint splash to mark its passing. Their shuttle slowed, descended, and then touched down on a landing pad. A slight skid set them off. The rain splattered against the viewports. Their shuttle clicked and ticked as it cooled. Padmé exchanged a look with Bail, then with Anakin, then Obi-wan, no one knowing what to do next.

She exited the cockpit and made her way to the gangplank. Heavy bootsteps followed.

The rain fell in sheets. Humid wind whipped the rain against her face, the air heavy with salt, thick with moisture. The group rushed across the landing platform, their boots squeaking against the slick surface. Padmé pulled the collar of her jacket up to her ears and closed a fist around it to keep the rain from dripping under the collar and slithering down her skin. She held her other hand over her head in a futile attempt to spare it the inevitable curling. The blast doors parted. Padmé blinked the rivulets out of her eyes and wiped her face, but that just pushed the water around. She needed to wring her hair out.

The interior of the structure had luminescent walls, blindingly bright for her human eyes. Ultra-violet, if she had to guess. She swept the water off her hands, and then watched Bail do the same to his shoulders. Anakin and Obi-Wan waved their robes, though the material would dry sooner than her hair. Just as Padmé contemplated a self-guided tour through the facility in order to find someone, the blast doors on the opposite end opened and a creature walked in, similar in shape to the rider.

Tall, slim, with an elongated neck and wide black eyes distinguished by a white pupil, the creature stood in the doorway, watching them.

Bail approached and dipped a nod. “Please pardon the intrusion. My name is Bail Organa, the First Prince of Alderaan. We … ” He trailed off, the willowy creature turning its attention on Padmé. The wide black eyes limned by thin lids widened in shock. In a fluid motion, the creature moved forward, the material of its skirt sliding like liquid with a faint whisper of movement. When the creature closed the distance, Padmé had to lean back in order to see the face looking down at her. The effect put a crick in her neck.

“RN-1473-29,” the creature said in a pleasant voice, high-pitched and kindly.

A cold rush through her body left Padmé empty. She took a step back, needing the space, needing the air because … because … Without realizing it, she had started to hyperventilate.

“Padmé?” Anakin laid a hand on her back. When she looked at him, his blue eyes swam with concern. She pulled herself together and rubbed his arm. No need to alarm him unnecessarily.

“I’m all right. Just … taken unawares.”

“Forgive me,” the kindly creature said as she dipped a short bow. “I was so delighted to see you that I couldn’t control myself. My name is Taun We. Welcome to Kamino.”

At least the planet had a name. Padmé managed a smile.

“Please allow me to introduce you to the Prime Minister. He would be delighted to meet you.”

Their group fell in behind Taun We, the Kaminoan’s stride the length of three steps to one of theirs. With Obi-Wan and Bail bringing up the rear, Anakin matched pace with Padmé. He spoke in a whisper. “What was all that earlier?”

Padmé opened her mouth, shut it, berated herself for how mundane it all was, and then reminded herself that she wouldn’t keep secrets from Anakin. Not now and not ever. “She recited my batch number.”

The realization dawned in stages, from confused to astonished and back to confused again. “But how would she know that?”

Padmé shook her head, unable to voice the implications flitting through her mind.

The room Taun We led them to had the same ultra-violet glow. A Kaminoan with a fin ridge on the head stood as they entered. The Prime Minister, Padmé presumed, his robes a darker shade than Taun We’s, but no less fluid.

Taun We extended a hand. “May I present Lama Su, Prime Minister of Kamino. And this is — ”

“RN-1473-29,” the Prime Minister said, his raspy voice at odds with his serene exterior.

Padmé stiffened, but diplomacy learned in the Queen’s household won over her indignity. “My name is Padmé Amidala, the Queen of Naboo. This is Bail Organa, the First Prince of Alderaan. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his Padawan, Anakin Skywalker. Thank you for receiving us.”

Chairs descended from the ceiling in a spiral drop. Lama Su gestured to them. “Please.”

Padmé sat closest to the Prime Minister with Bail by her side, and Obi-Wan and Anakin behind them. Taun We remained standing.

Lama Su smoothed a hand across his robe. “I trust you are going to enjoy your stay. We are most happy you have arrived at the best part of the season.”

“Thank you,” Padmé said, reflexively. Manners were universal until they weren’t. If they were to learn anything about this planet, it wouldn’t do to set out on the wrong foot.

“And now to business. You will be delighted to hear we are on schedule. The next two hundred thousand units are ready, with another million well on the way.”

_Next?_ The battered helmet in Tak’s possession flashed in her mind’s eye. A panic simmered under the surface, the facts leading to a terrifying conclusion. But the silence had gone on too long. She had to say something. “That is … good news.”

“But you must be anxious to inspect the units for yourself.”

Padmé forced herself to nod. “That’s why we’re here.”

Lama Su stood, prompting the guests to follow. As they left the Prime Minister’s office, Taun We led the way down a corridor and to the left. They reached another blast door that could only be activated manually. Odd, but not unheard of. Lama Su took point, his long fingered hand hovering over the activation switch. “I hope you will be please.” He turned the switch and the doors parted.

Horror left her cold. Padmé gasped, every suspicion confirmed. It was a factory. A factory that produced  _clones_ , no better than the factory on Geonosis making weapons. And it went on forever.

Pods moved in mechanized patterns on disc-shaped conveyor belts, their lights steady at green. Fluid pumped from a large tube into the pods, then out again, the noise a droning  _woosh-WOOSH_ …  _woosh-WOOSH_ , even behind glass. As Lama Su led the tour and Taun We ushered them alone, Padmé found herself following, the horror giving way to morbid curiosity. She felt Anakin’s warmth behind her, heard Bail’s sharp inhale, felt Obi-Wan exhale. The incubation pods wavered in her vision, blurring at the edges, so she blinked and hot tears ran down her face.

Obi-Wan refrained from staring at Padmé. He didn’t fault her; this place was a nightmare. Lama Su turned and caught his eye. “Master Kenobi, please tell your Master Sifo-Dyas that his order will be met on time.”

Obi-Wan blinked, thrown. “I’m sorry. Master … ?”

“Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas is still a leading member of the Jedi Council, is he not?”

The wide eyes looking down at him conveyed such pleasantness, he didn’t want to mar it, regardless of the circumstances. There was more going than what lurked on the surface. The Force rang with certainty. He had to play along. Obi-Wan softened his tone. “Master Sifo-Dyas was killed almost ten years ago.”

Lama Su’s neck drooped. “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that.” The Prime Minister moved forward. “But I’m sure he was proud of the army we’ve built for him.”

Padmé whirled, her worst fears realized, but it was Obi-Wan who spoke. “The … army?”

“Yes.” Lama Su turned, looking from one face to the other, then he spoke the words that took the air out of the room. “The Clone Army of the Republic. And I must say one of the finest we’ve ever created.”

The tour continued and Padmé gripped Obi-Wan’s arm, her nails digging through the layers of robe and tunics. She lowered her voice. “Obi-Wan, tell me the Jedi Council didn’t do this.”

He spoke through clenched teeth. “We didn’t, I swear. I’ve never heard the name Sifo-Dyas in my life.”

She heard truth. Of course she knew the Jedi wouldn’t betray the Republic, but the Kaminoan spoke with such certainty and frankness it was seductive to hear, much less believe.

They moved down the walkway to the next room where clone children were arranged in training stalls below, their headsets plugged into consoles. Lama Su was saying,

“We take great pride in our combat education and training programs. This group was created about five years ago.”

Padmé clenched her jaw, the realization hitting her like lightning. “Growth acceleration.”

Lama Su swiveled around, elegant limbs swinging, lips pulled into his species’s approximation of a smile. “Oh yes, it’s essential. Otherwise, a mature clone would take a lifetime to grow. Now, we can do it in half the time.”

“I see.”

The tour led to a commissary area, where hundreds of clones in red were eating at tables. In the distance were training silos, where the adult clones were training in hand to hand combat.

“They are totally obedient, taking any order without question. We modified their genetic structure to make them less independent than the original host.”

“The original host was Count Dooku?” Anakin asked.

“Correct.” The Prime Minister sounded like he took great pride in that fact. Padmé wanted to strangle him.

“And where is the Count now?” Anakin asked.

“Oh, we keep him here.”

Padmé perked up, her horror taking a back seat. It made perfect sense that Dooku would be here to oversee his … _zoo_. More than likely, Dooku had placed the order through a second party posing as a Jedi Master, and that was that. The _reason_ for the subterfuge eluded her, but Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Bail had perked up, too, trading looks as, no doubt, they shared the same thought.

Lama Su continued, “After a few thousand clones, the genetic pattern starts to fade, so we take a fresh supply. He lives here, but he’s free to come and go as he pleases.”

Except that didn’t make sense. The Naboo used an original genetic model for each batch, and she had posited that Dooku had stolen his in order to have his tiny kingdom of clones. He must have twisted an elaborate lie in order to trick the Kaminoans. Then again, for the Prime Minister to insist the  _Republic_ had a clone army did not bode well for such a kind and open people. The Kaminoans were being used.

Bail leaned in close, his words a whisper: “This is proof of Dooku’s military proliferation. If he’s here, we can end this war today.”

Padmé nodded, but they would have to play along. Wouldn’t do to show their hand too soon. “I would like to meet Count Dooku. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him.”

Taun We extended a long arm. “I would be very happy to arrange it for you.”

At last, the corridor came to a balcony. The noise below was deafening, like thousands of boots marching in unison. When Padmé peered over the balustrade, her assumption proved correct. Below, thousands —  _hundreds of thousands_ — of clones in white panel armor marched on the parade ground before loading into troop transports. Identical, impersonal fodder for the war machine. Padmé felt bile inch up her throat.

Then Lama Su said with a father’s beaming pride, “Magnificent, aren’t they?”

Padmé threw up.

 

 


	15. "Blast it!"

 

The planet’s atmosphere ignited in a blanket of fire. Explosions spread outward like a wave, only to fade in the vacuum of space. Qui-Gon gasped, the spectacle distracting him so thoroughly that a missile sailed across the bow of his _Actis_ -class starfighter, mere centimeters shy of slamming into his vehicle. He rolled to avoid a hail of red lasers fired from behind, the squad of six MagnaGuard fighters sweeping past and under the tail of a Republic Destroyer. Qui-Gon righted his starfighter in time to sail between the split halves of a _Providence_ -class dreadnought where a helmet bounced off the transparisteel. When he cleared the other side, he spotted a black shape moving through the chaos.

Not just any black shape, but a shadow against the darkness, pulsing with evil and violence. The Sith Interceptor. He needed to warn the team on the surface, and stop the Sith once and for all. Qui-Gon tapped his headset. “This is Qui-Gon Jinn. Is anyone around? I need aid on the planet surface.”

The comm crackled and an unexpected voice filtered into the cabin. “Gungan Squadron is here for you, my friend.”

Qui-Gon grinned. “JarJar!”

A squad of six Republic V-wings swept in, but these were painted a muted tan with white stripes similar to the patterns on a Gungan’s pelt. The fighters took up position on Qui-Gon’s tail and he led them around a Trade Federation freighter and down to the planet.

Gray smoke parted around his starfighter. The wisps thickened into pale clouds before rain hammered the viewport, the sheets of water obscuring the planet surface. No. Waves tossed and churned from horizon to horizon. He lost sight of the Sith Interceptor, seeing only water; however, a disturbance in the Force guided him onward.

Orange lights flashed in the distance. A landing platform. Qui-Gon angled his starfighter toward a wide oval set on stilts over the water. He comm-ed to JarJar that they should land. JarJar spoke in the gruff, grating Gungan language, then translated that he had ordered the squadron to circle and wait for further instructions. Once their starfighters touched down, Qui-Gon bypassed the cool down procedure to squint past the rain sliding off the viewport. He wanted to find _something_ before taking off and flying elsewhere. Instead, JarJar’s distorted image looked back though the transparisteel of his respective cockpit.

An image flickered out the corner of Qui-Gon’s eye. First, he thought it a distortion, an aberration of the weather. But as he watched, a transparent sheet rose from opposite sides and it closed like a mouth over the platform. Qui-Gon opened his cockpit and climbed out. Rain crawled down the transparent material of the dome in mesmerizing patterns. The ring of JarJar’s hooves on the platform brought Qui-Gon’s attention around. Having exited his starfighter, the Gungan stood as tall as Qui-Gon remembered, but the tip of his right ear ended in a blunt hack and a scar bisected the pattern on his left leg. No doubt they were both war weary; Qui-Gon must be a stranger in that regard. Since Gungan expressions were still difficult to interpret, he focused on the gray eyes, sharp and alert for any danger.

What came next surprised them both.

With a gentle lurch, the platform began to descend. Qui-Gon’s boots squeaked as he lost his balance and JarJar’s hooves clattered trying to find purchased. Then the ocean waves slammed against the transparent dome, swirls of water crashing and retreating, all without sound. As the platform continued to descend, the water swelled over the top and the light vanished. Only the orange light from the landing strips lent any visibility. Shadows crept on top of each other, casting JarJar face into plains and valleys. The Gungan’s eyes glowed with a bright pupil, like any equine seen in headlights.

Now a new light lit up the dome, brilliant without being blinding. Once his eyes adjusted, Qui-Gon saw a pair of spotlights below. He heard JarJar gasp and looked up just in time to see a giant aiwha pass overhead, the lateral fins lit from underneath. As the platform continued to descend, the light showed its source. Orbs floated in groups, tethered together by enclosed walkways, and their glow illuminated the water around them, the depths behind the city hidden in darkness. Qui-Gon had never seen an underwater city before. Naturally, the dominant species of this planet had evolved to withstand intense underwater pressure; this dome had been constructed with such an adaptation in mind. At last, the platform stopped, another gentle lurch, but Qui-Gon widened his stance and saw JarJar do the same. Qui-Gon shared a look with his Gungan companion, the short ears flickering, seeking any sound. Then the ears flicked to the right and they turned. Out of the darkness, a slim, willowy biped swam toward the dome. Gliding through the water, the creature’s four billowing fins reflected the light until it flashed like a strobe. The creature’s robes floated around it and it’s bulbous eyes shifted to focus on JarJar, then Qui-Gon.

Then, the creature placed its hands against surface of the orb and pushed through it. Impressed, Qui-Gon watched the creature enter the dome and step forward. Water dripped off the robes to form a puddle on the platform. With a flick of the wrists and ankles, water droplets spiraled outward as its four fins wrapped around its arms and legs until the limbs were slim once again.

Qui-Gon bowed. “Forgive the intrusion, but we’re looking for a recent arrival.” 

* * *

Prime Minister Lama Su returned to his office. Taun We led them to a lift, down, and into the atrium of Tipoca City. When they stepped off the lift, a translucent dome reveled the extent of the underwater city. Warm lights limned the orbs tethered together, a motif that shone bright against the oceanic darkness, and aiwha with Kaminoan riders glided overhead.

The walls here had the same ultraviolet glow, and Taun We led them down a corridor to a dormitory. Other Kaminoans passed them by, all of them taking a moment to stare at Padmé. Obi-Wan watched her flex her shoulders and raise her chin, though she kept her silence. The Kaminoans’ interest in her brought up another question in a series of questions. The Jedi Council would never approve the creation of a clone army, especially since the Republic had outlawed cloning long ago. And he had never heard of a “Sifo-Dyas”. Yet, Lama Su’s proclamation that the clone army was for the Republic not only left him speechless, but bewildered. Surely, the Kaminoans were not so isolated that they weren’t informed about the details of this war. And even if they were willfully misinformed, how could they not know that Count Dooku was the Separatist leader? None of it made any sense.

During the tour, Obi-Wan had a moment where he visualized the clones he had massacred in his role as a Jedi General — the oxymoron of the times. He had shuddered at the paternalistic way Lama Su spoke about the clones, a naïve parent sending his creations to slaughter. And he sympathized when Padmé threw up. So, just how did the Kaminoans know a Naboo clone? The answers were coming. He could feel it.

Taun We pressed a ringer, a pleasant sing-song announced their presence, and the doors parted. They entered a short hallway before stepping into a large room capped in high ceilings. Normally, such a space would be furnished as a receiving room, but this one had been stripped to only the most functional equipment. Viewscreens lined the walls, each alight with a regional star chart. Obi-Wan named he battles in his head: Geonosis, Utapau, Nemoidia, Oroq Na. At the conference table, a hologram flickered blue, the image imperceptible. And standing at the foot of the hologram, a human dressed in Separatist red, who turned at their arrival, his visage coming into stark relief.

“Count Dooku.” The certainty with which Padmé said it erased any doubt that this might be another clone. No. This was the real Count Dooku. Finally.

“Welcome,” Dooku said. “Thank you, Taun We, that will be all.”

The Kaminoan left, and Obi-Wan couldn’t take his eyes off the Count.

The familiar face smiled, a disarming charm Obi-Wan had not been expecting. Even though Obi-Wan didn’t have Padmé’s ability to spot a clone on sight, he took note of the mannerisms, how Dooku paused to consider an action before executing it, the ease of his commanding a space. The clone-Dooku they had met at the invasion of Naboo did not have this kind of charisma. That one may have had a false memory implanted to believe it to be the Count, but seeing a clone’s individuality, even with the inhumanity of war wearing him down, suddenly cast Padmé’s concern for the clones in a new light.

Dooku shut off the hologram, and then crossed to a sectional done in the same bland tones of the city, and sat. He gestured. “Please.”

Padmé scoffed. A very un-queenly sound, but who was he to fault her? “Are you out of your mind? I would sooner thrown you out of an airlock.”

Dooku’s brows rose to his hairline. “Then how can we negotiate terms?”

Padmé lurched in a full-body recoil. Bail stood straighter. Obi-Wan shared a look with Anakin and the bewilderment on his apprentice’s face matched the bemusement Obi-Wan felt. There had to be more, there had to be. The Count’s familiar eyes watched them with an unfamiliar glint. Measured. Calculating. The individuality of clones, indeed.

Bail stepped forward. “Very good. As a representative of the Galactic Republic, I, Bail Prestor Organa, First Prince of Alderaan, open negotiations with the Separatist leader — ”

Dooku raised a finger, cutting Bail off. “The Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

Bail blinked. “Pardon?”

“The Confederacy of Independent Systems,” Dooku said. “We finalized the charter most recently.”

“I see.” Bail cleared his throat. “To resume … with the leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems — ”

Dooku raised his finger again. “Viceroy Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation is the Head of State now.”

“Viceroy Gunray? Then what does that make you?” Bail shook his head, then cut his hand through the air. “Nevertheless, I am speaking to a representative of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and I am — ”

“Oh, stars.” Face contorted in fury, Padmé shouldered her way past Bail, fists balled at her sides. “Count Dooku, you are under arrest.”

Dooku smiled. “I don’t think so.” Then he snapped his fingers.

Clone troopers in white panel armor flooded into the room. The clacking of armor and the pounding of boots rose to an unholy clatter. Anakin stepped in front of Padmé, Bail backed into Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan _knew_ it. He just knew it — there was always more. Blaster rifles raised, the clone troopers ringed the outsiders, and outnumbered them ten to one. The odds of getting out of this unscathed had plunged off a cliff.

Dooku stood and approached. The clone troopers parted like the sea, allowing the Count to pass unimpeded. That kind of deference could not be bought. As clones, it was programmed, but the military precision piqued Obi-Wan’s suspicions. Dooku glanced at Padmé, who stood furious stiff at Anakin’s side, then he spoke to Bail, the Prince’s alarm pulsating through the Force. “The terms of _your_ surrender, if it wasn’t clear.”

“Yes, I see that,” Bail muttered. He cast a glance around, catching Obi-Wan’s eye and making a decision on the spot. “Then we surrender.”

“Not yours.” Dooku shook his head, a smirk curling his lip. “The Republic’s.”

Obi-Wan blinked, stunned. In a rustle of robes, Anakin, and Padmé turned, the cheeks drained of color. Bail’s swallow sounded like a dull _click_. “That will never happen.”

“No? You have declared yourself a representative of the Republic. You are given the chance to end this war. Right here. Right now. Think of all the lives you could save. No more of this senseless slaughter.” Now Dooku turned to Padmé. “What do you say, Your Majesty? Do you want the Prince to free Naboo?”

Padmé’s cheeks flared red. Her gaze shifted from Dooku to Bail, then back to Dooku. Her shoulders straightened and she drew herself to her full height. “I will kill you.”

Dooku inclined his head. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” He walked around them toward the door, the clone troopers ebbing around him like water around a rock. “Execute them. But not here — make it clean.”

“Yes, General Grevious.”

Obi-Wan’s thoughts narrowed to a fine point. Mindful of the moment, he plotted how the next events would play out. The clones could not be harmed, for Padmé’s sake. That would be simple. Then Obi-wan would corner Dooku/Grevious and arrest him. Not only arrest, but use him as leverage against the Separatists and end the war. Here.

Now.

The clone troopers surged forward in a riot of noise. But with a sweep of his arm, Obi-wan sent out a Force-push that shoved half of the troopers into each other. The crash of plate armor rose to a grating din and they collapsed into a pile. The same noise echoed on the other side of the room and Obi-Wan turned to see Anakin standing over a pile of fallen clone troopers. Micced voices groaned, and then Padmé cried out, “He’s getting away!”

With a _woosh_ of blast doors, Count Dooku fled. Obi-Wan broke into a run, hearing booted feet fall in behind him. He spotted Dooku rounding a corner, headed in that direction, and then came to a stumbling halt. A lift headed up, the light flashing through the levels. Padmé, Anakin, and Bail joined him, then they shared a look.

“The atrium,” Padmé said. “Back the way we came.”

They took off. It must have looked like bedlam to see four humans running with limited speed and no grace through the halls of their city, but the Kaminoans were too polite to censor them. When they made it to the atrium, they boarded alift and Anakin hit the button for the surface. A voice cried out:

“Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan whirled, and gasped, shocked to see Qui-Gon and JarJar — of all people — heading their way. Led by a Kaminoan, they were too late, but Obi-Wan was able to shout, “Count Dooku is here. The _real_ Dooku. He’s General Grevious. He’s headed topside!” The doors sealed shut.

The lift ascended, the depressurization making his ears pop. When they reached the surface, they piled out and hurried down a corridor lined with windows. Anakin pointed. “There!” Out the window and through the rain sheeting on the glass, Obi-Wan spotted clone troopers in white panel armor escorting Dooku towards a shuttle. A _Tenor_ -class shuttle. With X-4 on board.

They broke into a run. Obi-Wan’s robes fluttered out behind him, but the sleeves bunched around his arms and slowed him down. The pounding of booted feet swelled up behind him. Heavy gasping punctuated their effort. Obi-Wan kept an eye on Dooku, the rain obscuring the image, but the surreal nature of trying to outrun Dooku and his pack had a self-defeating side-effect. Even if he put on a burst of Force-speed, he would never make it.

Then the Dark Side stirred.

Obi-Wan stumbled to a stop, a perversion radiating darkness, a miasma of malevolence. Anakin, too, came to a halt, then exhaled a shuddering breath. “He’s here.”

Padmé and Bail approached, panting. “What?” She pointed out the window; Dooku was close to the shuttle. “He’s right there. Why are you stopping?”

Obi-Wan turned to Anakin. “Padawan, arrest Dooku.”

“But I can help — ”

Obi-Wan cut him off. “That’s an order. The future of the Republic depends on it.” He gripped Anakin’s shoulder, projecting reassurance. “I won’t take him on alone. Qui-Gon will be here soon. It’ll be all right.”

Anakin glanced out the window, then back to Obi-Wan, and then ran. The group split, Anakin, Padmé, and Bail racing toward the landing platform while Obi-Wan turned down a deserted hallway, where the Force led him. He slowed his gait. He needed to wait for Qui-Gon. He couldn’t make any foolish choices. 

* * *

Anakin ran. The blast doors parted and rain slapped him in the face. He squinted against the downpour, too driven to get to the other end of the platform to stop and pull up his hood. The gangplank rose, and Anakin put on a burst of Force-speed, his boots sliding on the slick surface. But it wasn’t enough. The _Tenor_ -class shuttle had already taken off, climbing high through the atmosphere before being enveloped by the clouds.

Anakin slid to a halt. “Blast it!” Then he palmed his utility belt and brought up his comm. “ _Pierced Haul_!” 

* * *

On the bridge of the _Pierced Haul_ , the green-skinned, green-haired, green-eyed comm pirate Uvare alerted Tak to an incoming communique. Tak Rydel turned away from the spectacle of a Banking Clan _Munificient_ -class star frigate spitting flames to slap the comm. Yerl assumed command, his wave-like voice washing over the bridge.

“This is Tak.”

“Tak!”

She recognized the voice. “Hey, sand mouse.”

“Not now.” He sounded so angry. It made her day. “Be on the lookout for your _Tenor_ -class shuttle. Capture it at all costs. Count Dooku’s inside.”

_Dooku?_ The real deal, no doubt. Finally. “Dap, find that shuttle.”

“There,” Dap said. He pointed to the screen and the _Tenor_ -class shuttle docked with the Trade Federation freighter hovering in orbit. “What do you want to do, Tak?”

Said pirate spat a swear. The _Pierced Haul_ shuddered from a turbolaser impact. Tak adjusted her stance, her mind discarding all the bad ideas. “Disable their hyperdrive.”

Dap turned around in his seat, yellow brows raised. “How?”

“Nurrestes, take us down. Dap, charge the main guns. Wait for my command.”

“Ready, Tak.”

The deck shifted underfoot, the propulsion hurtling them forward. Through the viewport, the battle blew up around them. Nurrestes guided the _Pierced Haul_ toward the lesser portions of the battle, but their size made them more conspicuous than usual. As a result, a M1 missile slammed into the hull and t he _Pierced Haul_ erupted into flames. A fuel tank caught fire before exploding, the ship and its passengers blown to smithereens.

The Trade Federation _Lucrehulk_ -class freighter launched upwards into hyperspace. 

* * *

The comm went silent. Anakin stared at it, unable to voice what he felt. Padmé, Bail, and JarJar finally reached the landing platform, drenched, rivulets running into their eyes, the latter’s pelt darkening in the rain. Anakin swallowed in a dry throat. “Tak … umm … ”

Padmé shut her eyes, jaw clenched. Bail wiped the rain from his face, despite the futility. And JarJar dropped his head, the rain beading on his pelt to drip off his nose. Anakin returned the comm to his belt. “We need to see what Dooku was doing.” He hurried down the ramp, back inside, and his boots squeaked as he made his way to the lift. At the junction where they had split up, JarJar said, “Qui-Gon has gone on to join Obi-Wan.” Such a pronouncement eased Anakin’s worries. JarJar mentioned Gungan Squadron and their post with Commodore Panaka on the Star Destroyer _Opposition_ , their twenty-seven missions and how they never lost a pilot. Anakin, JarJar, Padmé, and Bail filed into the lift, and when they reached Dooku’s office, the doors parted and blasters were pointed at their faces.

Bail cried out, Anakin spread his arms wide to protect them, and JarJar darted forward to disarm the troopers. But Padmé beat him to it. She stepped around Anakin, hands raised. “Stop! Lower your weapons.” To his surprise, the rifles lowered. Anakin whirled, his confusion zipping down his spine. Padmé sent him a knowing look, then addressed the troopers, “Let us enter.”

The clone troopers split apart, the rows standing at attention.

“How are you — ?” Bail began, but Padmé interrupted him.

“They’re totally obedient, remember?” Her lips twisted in distaste. She entered the office.

It was unnerving to have the clone troopers standing at attention while he accessed the database. As Anakin worked around a password prompt, Bail said, “What are we going to do about them?”

“Them?” Padmé turned to eye the clone troopers.

Bail spread his arms. “ _All_ of them. We need to shut down this factory.”

JarJar stepped forward. “Agreed. Doing so will be to our tactical advantage.”

“But how?” Padmé said, on the edge of distress. She turned to the closest clone trooper, no tab or stripe to delineate rank. “Your name is?”

The helmet turned toward her and a painfully familiar voice crackled through the comm filter. “CT-2281.”

“No, your _name_.” The clone trooper cocked his head, a childlike curiosity at odds with the helmet scraping against the panel armor. Padmé waved a hand. “Later. How do we get to the cloning facility?”

Bail stepped forward, mouth open to ask a question, but Anakin’s, “Blast it!”, brought their attention around. He shoved away from the console, clenching and unclenching his hands in irritation. “Can’t get in.” He turned to the clone trooper. “You wouldn’t happen to know what Count Dooku was doing on this console, would you?”

“Count Dooku?”

Anakin waved a hand, growing impatient. “General Grevious.”

CT-2281 stood to attention. “We are forbidden, sir.”

Anakin returned to the console, and then dropped to his knees. He palmed his lightsaber, ignited it, and with judicious flicks of the wrist, the access panel landed with a _clang_ on the floor. Anakin reattached his lightsaber, then reached in and felt around for the memory bank. Padmé turned to the clone trooper.

“Soldier, take me to the training facilities.”

Bail stepped forward. “What are you planning?”

Padmé turned to face Bail; Anakin dropped onto his belly in order to twist his hand and unplug the connector cable. Padmé said, “We won’t kill the clones.” Out the corner of his eyes, Anakin saw Padmé raise her hands to forestall Bail’s incoming protest. “They will be my responsibility. JarJar.”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“You said you came in with a squadron?”

“That’s right, my Lady.”

At that moment, the connector cable came free and Anakin felt the memory bank fall into his hand. He scrambled to his feet, the black box no larger than his palm. Padmé was saying, “Anakin, I’m going to need you with me. Bail, tell the Prime Minister to evacuate all the civilians, then you wait for us on Platform 5. JarJar, coordinate with your squadron and wait for my signal. CT-2281, bring your squad and take us to the factory.”

Out the door they went, the clone troopers leading the way. Anakin sussed out Padmé’s plan the moment she finished laying out the orders. JarJar, too, it seemed, his expression fixed, his hooves ringing against the floor in counterpoint to the marching clone troopers. Bail sent them a look, the muted certainty aging him before their eyes. With one final look, he turned down a corridor toward the Prime Minister’s office. JarJar took the lift down, and CT-2281 led them to the blast door leading to the factory floor. They entered the training stalls, the boy clones in blue hooked up to their consoles. Padmé climbed onto a desk and raised her arms. “ _Clones!_ ”

Her voice reached into every corner of the room; not Force-touched, but commanding. Every head turned toward her, some clones having to turn around in their seats, the Kaminoans bulbous eyes widening in surprise. The tapping of keys and the low murmur of voices stuttered to a stop. Anakin had never been more in love. “My name is Padmé Amidala and I am your _Queen_!”

 

 


	16. "That leads to the Dark Side."

 

It began as all battles do, with drawing their lightsabers.

Obi-Wan kept his promise: he took his time creeping along the hallway, following the turns and feeling the darkness inching in on him. When he came to the end of the corridor, the blast doors parted, and the demon stood there, waiting.

Darth Maul’s yellowed teeth flashed in an approximation of a smile. It made Obi-Wan’s arm twitch in memory, his gut clenching in anticipation. Maul shed his robe, casual, confident, and then dropped his hand the lightsaber at his hip.

Obi-Wan left his robe on the ground, then palmed his lightsaber, not willing to ignite it, yet. He was a Jedi. He had to wait for Maul to attack first. He wouldn’t break another promise to his Padawan.

Maul twirled the hilt over his head, struck a pose, and then a red blade flared to life. The other blade followed, their humming synched. Obi-Wan assumed Form III, weight on the back foot, arm over his head, the lightsaber flaring blue, and the two fingers of his left hand pointed at Maul in direct challenge. And Maul attacked. He moved like a whirlwind. Obi-Wan’s previous battle with the Sith had been nothing like this. Maul had previously been playing with him, feints, side-steps, and pivots. Now, energized to kill, Maul’s every strike, block, and parry was designed to break Obi-Wan’s defenses and deliver a fatal blow as brutally as possible.

Lips pulled back on yellowed teeth, red eyes burning with rage, the Sith’s acrobatics were more for maneuverability than any kind of offensive advantage. The fight took them through the hallway, Obi-Wan on defense, anything to keep Maul distracted.

And then a green lightsaber entered the fray. Perfect timing.

Qui-Gon’s imposing frame moved with eloquence. He and Obi-Wan split, each keeping Maul between them and pressing the Sith into a corner.

That all changed when Maul kicked Qui-Gon in the gut. The Jedi Master fell, and Maul flipped clear. Obi-Wan held back until Qui-Gon could regain his feet. In the meantime, Maul deactivated his lightsaber, tossed it at the blast door, and the hilt smashed the release button; then the hilt flew back to his hand and the red blades activated, all in a blinding whirl of motion. By the end of it, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had regrouped, the blast doors parted, klaxons blared, and Maul backed away into the cloning factory. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon followed.

They were up on a platform, faint vibrations rumbling underfoot as the incubation pods moving below them. Klaxons continued to blare, a searing on and off pattern distracting in its volume. Emergency lights flashed red, the factory shifting from lights bright to sinister. The pods’ mechanize route was mapped out on girders, the beams large enough to support a Kaminoan. Or a Zabrak who had no where else to flee. Maul leapt backwards and landed on a girder. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon follow, Obi-Wan completing a somersault, something he hadn’t done in a long time.

When they landed, Maul didn’t wait. Their blades clashed, blue on red on green.

* * *

Klaxons blared. Emergency lights flashed red, and Bail ran. His short legs could not keep up with the loping gait of the residents of Tipoca City. The Kaminoans fled in a wave out the atrium and toward the transparent dome. They leapt through it in groups. Bail watched, fascinated, as their fins unwrapped from their limbs and they swam away into the darkness.

Bail smashed the button for the lift. His diplomatic training had not been successful on this mission. First the Geonosians — the language barrier had been extensive regardless of Bail’s exertions as a polyglot — then Dooku or Grevious or whatever he called himself. Now, Prime Minister Lama Su. The kind, easy-going Kaminoan, with his twisted version of the war effort, didn’t believe a word Bail said, insisting, rather, that “a clone would never harm another clone”. Regardless of Bail explaining with expressive gestures how set Padmé Amidala was on ridding the galaxy of brutal cloning technology, Lama Su wasn’t listening. So Bail exited the office, and then spotted a red panel across the corridor. Curiosity lured him over. He flipped it open, saw an Emergency Evacuation button, and hesitating only as long as it took to blink, he smashed it with his fist.

Then the klaxons howled, the emergency lights flashed, and Lama Su hurried out of his office in a rustle of cloth, but Bail was already down the corridor … and now he was on the lift, heading back to Platform 5. He had to trust that the Kaminoans would stay away, especially since Padmé could finalize her plan at any moment.

Bail stepped into the perpetual storm, the rain sliding down his face. He squinted against it as he made his way to the end of the platform. The number “5” lit the platform and Bail waited. Rain dripped under his collar and down his back.

In a crash of aerodynamic sound, six V-wing starfighters circled overhead, painted in familiar tan and cream patterns. Two of the starfighters unleashed rockets. In a whistle, the rockets sailed across the distance and slammed into the dome. The explosion roared, debris and smoke flying into the sky. The next two starfighters repeated the assault and a piece of the dome collapsed, the wall sliding outward to crash into the waves.

Bail flinched from the action, cringed at the heat, and covered his ears to block out the noise. When the final set of starfighters unleashed their rockets, the explosion had Bail blinking the spots out of his eyes. The starfighters swept around, preparing for the next assault. Bail inhaled the metallic stench of destroyed durasteel mixed with the salt from the ocean and the freshness in the rain. He checked the sky, searching for Padmé’s signal.

A new sound drew Bail to the platform’s edge. The water bubbled in a new and alarming way. He watched, overcome, as the ocean waves slid off the object underneath to reveal a durasteel hull. The hull rose, slow as Alderaanian honey, the water spilling from the crevasses and over the viewport itself. Bail’s jaw dropped. Anakin sat at the controls, Padmé stood next to him, and clones in white panel armor filled in the deck positions. The cargo carrier lifted clear out of the water, the thrusters burning blue.

The V-wing starfighters finished their round and unleashed the next attack.

* * *

Qui-Gon held his own, his defensive skills apt for this kind of battle, but as Obi-Wan held his own and the battle moved from the incubation room to the hatchery, he worried about whatever tricks the Sith had up his sleeve.

That’s when Maul’s foot struck Obi-Wan in the face.

The blow came out of nowhere. Maul had Qui-Gon’s lightsaber pinned, and then he struck, spine contorting and leg reaching up and back like a numian snake. Obi-Wan felt the pain after his head snapped back. And then he staggered, his foot slipped off the edge of the platform, and he fell. Terror lurched into his throat, but he twisted in midair, aimed for the platform below him, and landed hard on his shoulder. He gasped, then rolled. Obi-Wan’s hands instinctively reached out to save himself from another fall. He dangled off the edge of the platform, his shoulder radiating waves of pain, his lightsaber lost somewhere, and the battle resuming overhead.

When Obi-Wan went over the edge, Qui-Gon stepped back in shock. He saw the terror on the younger Jedi’s face, the grin on the Sith’s. So he punched Maul in the chest followed by a backhand across the mouth. It felt so good to watch the Sith plummet to the platform below. Maul landed on his back with a loud _thwack_. Even from his vantage point, Qui-Gon could see Maul’s grimace and how his body curled in on itself. Qui-Gon considered ending it, jumping down and finishing this battle once and for all. The need to check on Obi-Wan is what stopped him.

Qui-Gon spotted the younger Jedi on a platform below the Sith. The hatchery stood empty; the pods had moved during their battle, but being so preoccupied he only acknowledged it in passing. In fact, the oppressive silence and the sickly green glow from a backup generator hinted that something was amiss. So still, he felt the building rattle around them, but he didn’t have time to consider the implications. Maul had climbed to his feet, the dual red blades bright points in the dimness. His red-and-black face looked up at Qui-Gon, then down at Obi-Wan, and he leapt down to the platform below him.

Qui-Gon jumped.

Obi-Wan struggled to pull himself up and his shoulder gave an audible pop. He gritted his teeth against the pain. When he managed to heave his torso onto the platform, he heard the thud of booted feet landing beside him and the _humm_ of a lightsaber. He looked up. Maul’s teeth were barred in a demonic grin, his red blades raised to strike. Obi-Wan figured his odds, whether or not he could release the platform and fall to a set of broken legs, or roll upwards and away from the Sith’s strike.

He didn’t have to do either because Qui-Gon plummeted through the air like a boulder, lightsaber parallel to where Maul stood. He would have sliced the Sith clean in two if Maul hadn’t twisted away. Qui-Gon landed in a crouch, the green blade smashing into the platform. The impact echoed, the lightsaber scarred the platform black. Qui-Gon rose out of his crouch and stood between Obi-Wan and the Sith.

Maul sneered. He swung his lightsaber, and Qui-Gon blocked, then Maul pressed his advantage, pushing with punishing blows that drove Qui-Gon back. Soon, they were out of reach and Obi-Wan still hadn’t regained his feet. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up. His shoulder throbbed; a bacta pack would heal it, but he couldn’t allow Qui-Gon to fight alone. The red and green lightsabers _humm_ ed and flashed in the distance. Obi-Wan spun, searching for his lightsaber. He spotted it further down the platform. He held out his hand, the hilt smacked into his palm, then he turned and broke into a run.

Obi-Wan put on a burst of Force-speed, making every single step the equivalent of two, but he wasn’t fast enough. Maul drove Qui-Gon against the wall. Maul feinted with a blow to Qui-Gon chest, exchanged it for a blow to Qui-Gon’s face, stunning the Jedi. Qui-Gon’s lightsaber fell out of his hand, Obi-Wan’s heart lurched into his throat, and Darth Maul thrust his lightsaber through Qui-Gon’s abdomen up to the hilt, pinning him to the wall.

Obi-Wan heard a scream. He stumbled to a stop and the scream echoed, anguish, denial, and anger. Qui-Gon’s shocked expression gave way to slack features. Maul withdrew his lightsaber and whirled, leaving Qui-Gon to collapse with all the gracelessness that death permitted.

Obi-Wan inhaled in shallow gasps, his hands shaking with rage. Another Jedi was dead. A Jedi he could have saved. Another who died at the hands of a bloodthirsty Sith who had laid a trap for Obi-Wan and killed the one who had nothing to do with it.

His shoulder burning, his vision whiting out, Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber and charged.

Maul met him blow for blow, the red and blue blades hissing and sparking. Obi-Wan remainded vaguely aware of his movements, the speed like an extension of his anger, the Force fluid and commanding. He lost ground when Maul went on the attack, but Obi-Wan continued to fight, no longer a battle, but a showdown. One of them wouldn’t leave here alive, he was sure of it.

The building shook. Smoke rose in a steady haze, metallic and harsh. These specifics were tangential because Obi-Wan’s anger swelled. His desire to kill the Sith overwhelmed his judgment. He pushed, drove the Sith to the edge, and then gained an opening. As Maul aimed for Obi-Wan’s head, Obi-Wan aimed for Maul’s torso. He gave a roar and sliced clean through. Everything froze, Obi-Wan snarling, Maul’s mouth open in surprise. Then Maul gave a pathetic whimper. He tumbled backwards. Obi-Wan watched Darth Maul fall. His lightsaber deactivated and his body split into two halves. He fell and fell and kept falling until the darkness consumed him.

Obi-Wan came back to himself in stages. He first heard ragged inhales, then the hot tears running down his face, and finally the pain in his shoulder. He deactivated his lightsaber and made his way over to Qui-Gon. The battle had taken him farther than he had realized. The building shook again, a loud explosion echoed in the distance. Obi-Wan gripped his bad shoulder, but the lightsaber pressed into the muscle. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. During the duel, he had been on the brink of something disastrous, not quite Dark Side, but not quite good either. A hollow feeling wrung him from the inside out. He knelt by Qui-Gon’s side.

The Jedi Master lay on his front, lightsaber hilt at his feet, cheek pressed into the platform. The building rumbled, the smoke gathering into a dense cloud. He would need help moving the body. And he would have to report this to the Jedi Council and arrange a funeral. And add another name to the roster of dead Jedi. But that could wait.

Obi-Wan hung his head and wept. For what, he wasn't sure anymore.

 

 


	17. "May the Force be with you."

 

The Republican armada led by Commodore Panaka seized a victory against the Separatist forces in the space above Kamino. The last _Providence_ -class dreadnought broke apart and the Star Destroyers obliterated the remnants by firing green turbolasers at the larger debris. The Star Destroyer _Unity_ targeted a set of twenty escape pods, deaf to the pleas of the clones on board.

On the surface of Kamino, pylons crashed into the waves with shuddering impacts, and then the domes collapsed. Yellow and red explosions rumbled through the structures only to be swallowed by the waves. Anakin guided their _Mainline_ -class cargo carrier to the secondary dome consumed in flames. On landing Platform 10, he spotted two figures kneeling on the durasteel, one leaning into the arms of the other. Anakin eased the cargo carrier down, flipped the switch to lower the flat bottom gangplank, and he waited for the all clear before he raised the gangplank and eased the ship up through the atmosphere. Gungan Squadron accompanied them spaceward. They all docked on the _Opposition_ and Anakin ordered a clone officer to handle the cool down procedure. He pulled off his harness and went to Obi-Wan, the gentle fall of Padmé’s boots following.

The Force guided him onward. The blast doors parted and Anakin swallowed his dismay. Padmé gasped. Qui-Gon’s … body was laid out on the table, his lightsaber on his chest, his hands crossed over it. Bypassing the chairs, Obi-Wan sat on a protrusion in the hull, Bail at his side, the former staring into the distance with a vacant expression, the latter’s brow pinched in concern. Anakin knelt and took Obi-Wan’s hands in his own. He dipped his head to look into the blue-green eyes, and then, like a physical wave, he sent his strength through the Force. In increments, the flush returned to Obi-Wan’s cheeks. His shoulders straightened and his head lifted. He blinked, and the light came back to his eyes. Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s hand release, and then land on his shoulder. “I’m all right, Padawan.”

Anakin nodded. He turned over what he wanted to say next. “What — ?”

“The Sith is dead,” Obi-Wan said. His hands dropped to his lap and he averted his eyes. “That’s the end of it.”

A whisper of the Force warned Anakin that it wasn’t. He didn’t bring it up because Obi-Wan stood, and then crossed to the table. Anakin rose, traded a look with Bail, but both kept their distance. Obi-Wan placed a hand on Qui-Gon’s brow, already gone waxy. The body would be returned to the Jedi Temple for immolation. The latest Jedi to deserve it.

“It’s said … ” Obi-Wan paused, inhaled. It sounded wet. “… that one Jedi dies every hour of this war.” He dropped his hand. Silence fell, Anakin, like Bail and Padmé, held steady, polite, if not outright sacred. Then Obi-Wan spoke, his emotions spiraling in the Force. “How long before all the Jedi are gone?”

The blast doors parted, shattering the reverence. Commodore Panaka entered. He nodded to Padmé, then to Bail, and then to Anakin before saying, “Master Kenobi, call from the Jedi Council.”

Obi-Wan nodded, then took a deep breath. He turned. “May I handle this alone?”

They filed out, Anakin the last the leave. He glanced over his shoulder just as Master Windu’s blue hologram appeared on the projector. “Master Windu — ” The blast doors closed.

What Anakin didn’t hear was Mace Windu’s urgent voice interrupting: “Obi-Wan, there’s been a development.”

In the corridor, Commodore Panaka questioned the presence of so many clones on board and Padmé led them to the cargo bay. The clones had moved like a well-regulated militia, shifting the pods from the factory floor to the cargo carrier. The young clones and the mature ones were milling about in the cargo bay, a veritable ocean of clones, some in white panel armor.

“What are you going to do with them?” Panaka asked.

Padmé sighed, her shoulder slumping. “We need to win this war, right?”

“I thought you abhorred cannon fodder?” Bail said.

“I do.”

Padmé took them to a corner of the cargo bay, the clones parting like a wave to let their Queen pass. There, the pods had been stacked, efficient, effective, and with the snap of military precision. The pods were self-feeding, the transparisteel shell showing the fetuses at different stages of development. So many. Anakin placed his hand against one of the pods, the transparisteel cool in direct contrast to the temperature reading on the side panel. “What do you plan to do with these?”

Padmé turned, a hand passing over one of the tubes. “Raise them. Teach them. Make them understand what it means to be a clone.” She paused, then wrapped her arms around herself. “If we can free Naboo.”

“We _will_ free Naboo.” Anakin wanted to step into her space and wrap her in his embrace. Her arms would come around him and her head would rest on his chest. A warmth spread there as he thought about it, nothing biological surely, but more like the warmth of coming home.

Padmé ordered the clone commander, CT-4481, to keep the clones in the cargo bay until she could sort out where to put them. Commodore Panaka led them to the bridge. There, JarJar stood at the viewport, watching the storms of Kamino. He turned and nodded. Anakin made sure to take a seat at navigation next to the navigation officer. Padmé sat at the free chair in ops next to Bail. Commodore Panaka cornered the executive officer, exchanging words.

Anakin looked up before Obi-Wan entered, the emotions roiling through the Force. Obi-Wan stumbled to a stop, his Master’s face pale from shock. Anakin felt himself come alert. “Master?”

Obi-Wan blinked as though he just now realized he had to speak. “The Orbital Defenses have fallen. The Separatists are attacking the Core Worlds.”

Commodore Panaka sprang into action. He turned to the comms officer. “Fleet-wide alert.” Then he leaned over and spoke into the comm. “All ships, Emergency Zero. Set coordinates for Fleet Dock.”

Anakin took command of the helm. With the navigation officer as co-pilot, they split the task of prepping the ship for entering hyperspace and inputting Fleet Dock’s coordinates into the ships’ navicomputer. The passengers strapped in, Obi-Wan, Bail, Padmé, and JarJar taking seats in ops. The navicomputer blinked confirmation.

“Hang on.” Anakin guided the Star Destroyer into hyperspace.

In the vast reaches of space, the Republic armada burst into lightspeed, leaving Kamino and their tenuous victory behind.

 

 

To Be Concluded in Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

 

 


	18. Author's Note

 

The Revised Prequels are Obi-Wan’s story. He begins as a newly invested Jedi Knight who’s getting the hang of having these responsibilities, then completes his arc by maturing as a teacher to a potential Padawan. Now, at Episode II:  _The Phantom Menace_ , Obi-Wan will face his greatest challenge: How to be a Jedi. Don’t get me wrong, Obi-Wan deserves to be a Jedi, works hard at it, and sacrifices a lot for it, but the war, the hard choices, and the ramifications of his actions will challenge Obi-Wan and make him question whether it’s all worth it.

For example: “I was once a Jedi Knight, the same as your father.” What’s the subtext of this line? Does Obi-Wan still consider himself a Jedi in Episode IV? Is the destruction of the Jedi Order in Episode III the end of the Jedi? Does Yoda still consider himself a Jedi? Actually, yes. Yoda still trains Luke, gives a great speech about the Force, “and a powerful ally it is.” And Luke is on the path to becoming a Jedi and makes that pronouncement in Episode VI (“I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”) But the question remains: Did Obi-Wan lay down his Jedi title? One answer is no, of course not, once a Jedi always a Jedi. Another answer is there was a time when Obi-Wan didn’t want to be a Jedi any longer because the Jedi Order lost its way, became something he no longer recognized and because of the unforgiving nature of war, Obi-Wan became disillusioned. How can he call himself a Jedi when he can’t even remember what that means anymore? Which is why he spent 19 years in the desert sorting himself out.

“Don’t give in to hate. That leads to the Dark Side.” Is Obi-Wan speaking from experience? Let’s look at Lucas’s Episode I:  _The Phantom Menace_ , Obi-Wan versus Darth Maul once Qui-Gon is out. Trapped behind the force fields, Obi-Wan psyches himself up, and when the fields power down, Obi-Wan attacks. He’s giving as good as he gets, if not better. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber even strikes the ground where Maul’s head was, and then Obi-Wan has a snarl on his face when he strikes the half of Maul’s lightsaber, just before Maul Force-pushes Obi-Wan into the pit. There is a lot of anger in Obi-Wan at this moment; however, Obi-Wan calms himself, calls upon the Force, and manages to slice Darth Maul in half. But what if he couldn’t? What if Obi-Wan gave in to his anger? What if the toil of war has left him weary, disillusioned, defensive, and vulnerable? He’s been watching Jedi die left and right, an interminable war where ground gained is lost again, so the battle must be fought for a second, third, fourth time. Qui-Gon’s death would be the final straw. Obi-Wan, in many words, would snap. If violence begets more violence, then revenge for Qui-Gon would be seen as justifiable; however, Obi-Wan would then be ripe for a confrontation with the Dark Side. (“This is a dangerous time for you, when you will be tempted by the Dark Side of the Force,” says the Obi-Wan who speaks from experience?) And dealing with the Dark Side and unable to complete Anakin’s training will be the character beats for Episode III.

So let’s discuss Obi-Wan the Liar. In  _A New Hope_ , Obi-Wan tells Luke a few lies in order to protect an impressionable young man who idolizes his father. Since Obi-Wan was relying on Luke to redeem Anakin and redress the wrongs of the previous generation, Obi-Wan can’t stumble.  So many people are upset by this and I don't understand why. Luke is 19-years-old, impressionable, naive, reckless, compassionate, loyal, and brave. If he learned the truth that his father, whom he idealizes (“He knew my father?” / “My father didn’t fight in the wars. He was a navigator on a spice freighter.” / “I wish I’d known him.” / “I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father.” / “I am a Jedi, like father before me.”) is the second most evil person in the galaxy, then the truth would have  **SHATTERED** Luke to the point of catatonia, similar to Luke’s reaction in Episode V. If not worse.

So Obi-Wan had to lie, to protect Luke, to make sure Luke became a Jedi and “... face Darth Vader again.” Obi-Wan and Yoda have plans for Luke, and it wouldn’t do for Obi-Wan to begin with a stumble. Which is why I want and believe that Obi-Wan should have some measure of experience when it comes to the advice he gives Luke. (“Don't give in to hate. That leads to the Dark Side.”)

Of course, “from a certain point of view” opens up the argument that Obi-Wan was already outed as a liar, but not the thorough, indiscriminate, unapologetic liar the way Lucas’s Prequels make him out to be. “I took it upon myself to train him as a Jedi.” No, Qui-Gon made you do it. “I was amazed how strongly the Force was with him.” No, you shook his hand and called him dangerous. “I thought that I could instruct him just as well as Yoda.” Where did this come from? To have such ambition to be as good as Yoda implies arrogance, but the Obi-Wan we saw in Lucas’s Prequel Trilogy ragged on Anakin’s arrogance while displaying no arrogance of his own. Where was Obi-Wan’s ambition? Where was his character arc? Where did “I was wrong” come from? What did he learn?

What  _did_ he learn? A teacher passes on wisdom to the student, and the best wisdom comes from experience, so there needs to be quality in the advice Obi-Wan gives Luke. But what if that advice is of a different era? (“You cannot escape your destiny. You must face Darth Vader again.” / “I can’t kill my own father.” / “Then the Emperor has already won. You were our only hope.”) This exchange implies that Obi-Wan believes that violence is the answer. As a Jedi, killing sometimes happens whenever they must defend themselves. But what happens when the Jedi weaponize themselves as generals in a war? Are they now just as violent as the Sith? Is that weaponization leading to their corruption, their “ability to use the Force [being] diminished”, according to Mace Windu in Lucas’s  _Attack of the Clones_ ? If this is so, then was Obi-Wan, one the last of the Jedi, able to stop being a weapon? I believe so because Obi-Wan returned as a Force-ghost, which we see is not a common ability. To become one with the Force, truly one with the Force, is a rarity (or a screenwriting trick), and Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Anakin figured it out upon their deaths. (Yes, Yoda mentioned Qui-Gon has figured out the Force-ghost technique in Lucas’s  _Revenge of the Sith_ , and from my research, I understand that  _The Clone Wars_ TV show has episodes where ghost-Qui shows up, but for the purposes of The Revised Prequels, these elements do not exist.) The Force-ghost ability doesn’t need to be explained, but can be a story thread that implicitly hints at a reason for Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Anakin becoming Force-ghosts when so many other Jedi didn’t.

All of this makes me think Obi-Wan is not a good teacher. “Obi-Wan has taught you well,” Darth Vader says in Episodes V and VI. This could be jealousy, that Luke received the training Anakin did not. In TRP: Episode I, Obi-Wan is rushed into becoming a Master and he rushes into training Anakin. Obi-Wan was not ready and is so distracted by the war and is too close in age to Anakin and crosses the line from teacher to friend, so Anakin will be poorly trained.

The one thing I never quite understood after watching George Lucas’s  _The Phantom Menace_ was why Darth Maul fought Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon in the Duel of the Fates. Yes, Maul was a Sith Lord and attacked Qui-Gon on Tatooine, and wanted revenge against the Jedi, as he said on Coruscant, but why did he want revenge? It wasn’t until Episode III that we learn the Sith had oppressed the galaxy in the past, the Jedi were the ones to stop the Sith (presumably), but now that Palpatine has cemented his status as Emperor, he can set up a Sith empire to once more “rule the galaxy”. Since this was Palpatine’s plan all along, the disconnect comes when Darth Maul acts without substantial motivation. He wants revenge, but shouldn’t we know his motivation first, therefore giving his actions much more weight?

So what about Palpatine? “Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design,” the Emperor says in Episode VI. Wouldn’t it have been great to see him in action? To see him take advantage of his enemies’ mistakes and show that he is the master manipulator? And in seeing that, Palpatine is characterized as someone never to cross, and frames Luke’s encounter with the Emperor in  _Return of the Jedi_ in even more diabolical terms. How can Luke go up against this strategist? Will he survive? We’re going to be (even more) on the edge of our seats.

But you’re saying, “We already saw Palpatine be a master manipulator.” I say, Did we? Did we know that it was Palpatine manipulating everyone? Did we know before the Episode III reveal that Darth Sidious and Palpatine were the same person? Of course we knew this because we saw the Original Trilogy. Since we know Palpatine is evil, him being Darth Sidious isn’t much of a surprise because Lucas’s Prequels were written backwards. The movies assume that the audience knows what’s coming and so ticks the boxes, instead of circumventing our expectations and introducing something unexpected.

In 2016, I wrote the following post on the Facebook fanpage Star Wars: Everything & Anything in regards to  _Rogue One_ :

 

“The trick to a prequel of any kind is to focus on the characters. The complaint that we already know what's going to happen is valid, but when the storytellers focus on ticking the plot boxes (protagonist must go here, do this, next scene), then the audience are never invested in the narrative. The story becomes rote and a waste of time; however, if the characters resonate, have dimension, are embodied by good actors, then the audience will ask, “What’s going to happen next?” and they become invested. It’s not what happens, but how it happens. As such, let’s hope this movie gets it.”

 

And _Rogue One_ got it.

So how to get the audience invested in Episode II:  _The Phantom Menace_ ? For example, Palpatine’s Sidious reveal isn’t the emotional crux of the story or even the emotional crux of Episode III. The emotional crux, which comes from strong characterizations, is Palpatine using and manipulating the situations to his benefit. I hear you: Palpatine manipulated Anakin in Lucas’s prequels. To which I say: Yes; however, in The Revised Prequels, a way to see Palpatine as the master manipulator would be to have him put on the hood to become Darth Sidious and command the Separatists, and then remove the hood and lie to all his Republic allies while he is Palpatine. The dramatic irony (when the audience knows what the characters do not) would add emotional weight and make us fear for our characters. For a solid example of this, please watch the BBC series  _Endeavour_ , which is a prequel to the  _Inspector Morse_ series.

Random musings:

“Years ago, you served my father in the Clone Wars.” We never saw that. Did it happen off screen? Conversations can happen off screen, but not entire plot points. If this was so important, why didn’t we ever see it? Were we meant to watch  _The Clone Wars_ TV show? To quote Sursum Ursa on Stuff You Like: “You can’t assume people are going to watch your show.” (Stuff You Like episode 115 “Attack of the Groans”)

How to have Bail Organa matter to the story? The idea is that Bail learns everything during the war that he applies to the Rebellion later.

The goal of the Revised Prequels is to take the dialogue of Episodes IV, V, and VI, find the subtext, and create prequels that can match the Original Trilogy and sustain the Star Wars legacy.

I hope I’m living up to that goal.

 

 


End file.
